


Gang Wars and Alcoholic Drinks (there to suit your every need)

by Gaearnith



Series: One Piece Works || Reader Inserts [3]
Category: One Piece
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Gang World, Angst, Blood and Violence, Drugs, Established Relationship, F/M, Fighting, Gangs, Guns, I hope, Multi, Mystery, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Alternating, Panic, Panic Attacks, Slow Build, Slow Updates, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, elements and places from real world and OP world have been meshed together into this story lol, in terms of romance and all, might be cliche but lets all cross our fingers and hope not huh
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-03
Updated: 2018-10-05
Packaged: 2018-10-14 05:51:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 84,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10530231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gaearnith/pseuds/Gaearnith
Summary: One Piece - Modern Gang War AUA university student working at a local bar is caught in a war between gangs. Now, you have to deal with nuisances, strange people, gunfire, and think twice before fully trusting a stranger. How you'd walked into this mess, you didn't know, and whether you were freeing yourself from it was still debatable.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this idea in my head for the longest time and I just couldn't get rid of it so I decided to just write and see what happens. So, alcoholic drinks, gangs, and a very confused reader gets dragged into all the conflict and I'm kinda just going to say that I'm really excited to see where I go with this.
> 
>  
> 
> I hope you enjoy! All comments, kudos, and bookmarks are appreciated!

_Crap, crap, crap, crap-_

Your thoughts were in synch with the sharp sound of your footsteps on the sidewalk as you ran, gripping the strap of the book bag weighing your shoulders down. You were soaked to the bone, no thanks to the totally nice and necessary rain pelting down on your face. Water splashed you here and there as you stepped into small puddles that your eyes unfortunately missed. Blinking away some stray droplets clinging to your lashes, you quickly made a turn, barely dodging a couple rounding the same corner.

You quickly side-stepped as they both halted, their eyes going wide as they gasped and chorused an annoyed ‘ _hey!_ ’, watching you hurry past them with a sheepish smile.

“Sorry!” Quickly giving them an apologetic wave, you continued to hurry to your destination, a frown pulling the corners of your lips downwards. You almost groaned at how frozen you felt, your fingers and face being close to numb.

Honestly, this had not been your day. And it was only going to get even worse, seeing as today it was only you and a friend working there. On a Friday.

The cold air that entered your lungs was not helping your throat either, and you knew that after this, you were most likely going to catch a cold. Panting heavily, you struggled to keep your jacket close to your body, since you had been in too much of a rush to actually zip it up like you probably should’ve.

Somehow managing to avoid a larger puddle, you almost sighed in relief as you spotted the bar you worked at. If only you hadn’t been up until 3 AM. Maybe then you would’ve gotten enough rest and not slept through your damn alarms.

When you finally reached the small structure, you pushed the doors open, almost smashing your face into the glass in the process. Shaking the water out of your hair, you pushed any stray strands away from your eyes, sniffling as you shivered. You hurried across the room, where you spotted your friend and co-worker.

“You’re late, y’know.” An amused co-worker, Ally, commented casually as she leaned against the wooden counter, fixing and organizing a couple bottles until all of the labels faced the same way.

“Shh...!” You shushed her, a finger pressed to your lips as you quickly jogged past her into the room where workers kept their things. You heard a snort behind you as you ripped the door open, throwing your bag into a random locker.

You peeled your wet jacket off your body, thankful that the clothes underneath were still dry. Had the shirt not been dry, you would’ve been a whole lot more trouble than you already probably were, since this was the outfit everyone here considered a uniform. Including the pants, which weren't as lucky as your top, but it wouldn't be too much of a problem since they were black.

You smoothed out any wrinkles in the white dress shirt, fixing the breast pocket and the collar. Giving your outfit a once-over, you made sure that the black rimmed collar and shirt were in place. You quickly tucked your shirt into your pants, adjusting the black leather belt secured around your hips. You promptly kicked your boots off, before slipping on a pair of flats you’d bought not that long ago.

Once you were satisfied with your look, you rushed back out, seeing your friend talking to the manager. Luckily, the manager didn’t notice you, but you knew that sooner or later he was going to have a chat with you about your tardiness.

You groaned internally at the thought of having to talk to the man. He was the most disrespectful person you had ever come across, and you always considered calling it quits whenever he chided you as if you were a child, even when you had done nothing wrong.

By the looks of it, your friend was being scolded again. For what, you didn’t know, but you felt sympathy for her anyway. Their conversation ended with a few nods from your friend and your manager strutting away confidently, chin held so high you thought he would hurt his neck.

When Ally returned to her spot behind the long counter, you sent her a sympathetic smile, which she returned with a weak huff and an eye roll directed to the pompous man. The day was just starting, and your patience for the man was already running low.

Sighing, you waited for the regular customers to flood in, knowing that it was going to become a bit hectic in here in no time. You saved whatever curses you had been dying to throw your manager’s way for later, before making sure the tables were cleaned, that there were enough stools lining the wooden counter, and that the floor was decent. You didn’t have a lot of time before regulars came in, so you did what you could.

After finishing one last table, you heard the door open to reveal one of said regulars, who was tall, dark-skinned man in his late forties. He had a bit of stubble, and big, round glasses that rested low on the bridge of his nose. He sent you a small smile, before sauntering over to a stool and sitting down.

You and your friend already knew what he wanted, so she went on with the task, preparing his drink. He was a quiet man, who never felt the need to start unnecessary conversations. Both you and your friend, awake since the early hours and only fuelled by what could only be unhealthy amounts of caffeine, appreciated the silence.

The only words that were shared between the two other people in the room were a quiet ‘thank you’, and a ‘you’re very welcome’ from Ally. Then it was back to the blissful silence.

That is, until more people entered the bar. It was a couple, and you were relieved to see it wasn’t the couple from before. The man and woman smiled at you as they walked by, before sitting down at a vacant table. You waited for them to get settled, before making your way over to them with a friendly grin curling your lips.

“What can I get for you?” You asked them, hearing the bell on the ceiling close to the door that signaled that someone had entered ring again… And again.

The man, probably in his thirties, smiled crookedly, “Two mojitos, please.” He requested, holding his lover’s hand. She was too busy staring at him with big, green eyes to care about much else, but you didn't mind.

Nodding, you quickly wrote down what they wanted, before turning to the new customers. You went around the room, gathering orders before walking behind the counters where you split the orders with Ally and began preparing them.

“So why are there two of us again?” You asked quietly while pouring the right amount of sugar into the mojitos, sparing Ally, who was dealing with a plain order of rum. A bit boring, you thought.

She shrugged, eyes trained on the bottle as she poured it into a glass, too focused to say anything. You sighed through your nose, done with the mojitos, before putting both drinks on a tray and returning to the couple.

“Here we are,” You placed the drinks down in front of them, smiling as you stood straight once more. “Enjoy.” The tanned man beamed your way once more when you said that. They both thanked you, and you left them to their business.

Looking around, you saw more people enter, but not too many. It was going to get a lot rowdier at around 6 PM, and it was only 1 PM. You mouthed your complaints, back facing the rest of the people in the room so they wouldn’t see you venting your frustration as you wiped another table clean.

Fridays were the worst days for someone like you or Ally to work on because of the people that came around to drink. You could deal with the usual fools that had drunk themselves stupid, and the occasional fight.

But you could not deal with the gang members.

The second the thought of those people crossed your mind, you scowled. You knew they were gang members from the insignias on the backs of their jackets, meant to intimidate others and make them think twice about messing with them, and they sure as hell got their point across, but you never knew what could happen when they were around. Sometimes, somehow, they were good for business, since people seemed to be reeled in by the drama that usually followed wherever the jerks went. And yet, sometimes they scared away most of your customers except for a couple regulars, and who received the shorter end of the stick? You did. You were always the one being scolded by your manager whenever that happened, because of this and that and blah blah _blah._

It was a load of crap that you somehow managed to draw to yourself whenever something bad happened here, which was why you disliked them so strongly. They were unpredictable.

Giving the table one last wipe, you inhaled deeply, surveying the area. Ally was dealing with another customer, and so far there was no one else in the room. Relief washed over your sleep-deprived body, and you almost sank into one of the seats, but that would get you in trouble with the manager. You gave one of the stools a longing look, before shaking your head as you heard the bell ring again and another person walked in.

You recognized this person, as they were a regular, just like the old man at the counter. You flashed them a welcoming smile, which they returned with a wave as they mouthed ‘the usual’ to you. You indicated you had heard the woman with a thumbs up, hurrying behind the counter so you could arrange the beverage.

“It’s quiet today, huh?” The woman started a conversation rather casually as she sat on a stool, the wood creaking in complaint at the sudden weight. You briefly looked up from the White Russian in your hands, sending her a small smile.

“Yeah,” You agreed, eyes back on the beverage, “It won’t be this quiet in a couple hours, though.” You said, deflating a bit. The woman, noticing the drop in your mood, smiled sympathetically.

“You’ll get through it, (name).” She encouraged with a chuckle, before stuffing her hand in her coat pocket and pulling out her phone, typing away at something. You made sure she heard your playful sigh, and she grinned up at you as you passed her the White Russian.

“Let’s just hope there isn’t any broken furniture today.” Ally piped in, a wince twisting her tanned face, “I had to clean that up last time.”

Laughing, you spared the old man, who was still drinking quietly, a glance. He noticed you looking at him, and beamed at you. You returned the gesture, before it was silent again, the only sound being the conversation the couple was sharing.

(x)

Eventually, the woman finished texting after nothing more than an hour, and downed her drink in one go. You resisted the urge to cringe, although you couldn’t hide the twitch in your nose as you turned away. You heard a chuckle leave her lungs as she placed the glass back on the wooden surface, and you flushed. At least she wasn’t angry.

Standing, the woman flashed you another smile as she left the right amount of money and a tip, which you took gratefully.

The bell jingled again, signalling she had left. The couple had eventually left as well, thanking Ally and you for the service. Now there were only two other people, a student with books splayed out in front of him, and another woman.

Checking the time, you read the numbers on your phone’s screen.

2:39 PM, and there were still not that many people.

“Strange…” You mused, shutting the device off and thrusting it back into your back pocket. You thought for sure there would be more people coming by, seeing as today was when the gangs filled the streets and began their fighting and intimidating and God knew what else. Maybe today the people had been scared off, or maybe they'd been drawn to somewhere else where more drama was brewing up. You didn't know, you didn't really care.

Shuddering visibly, you considered asking Ally for a ride home, but you didn’t want to do that to her. She’d been dealing with several problems lately, with the heaviest being a nasty breakup, and her studies (university was fun).

 _‘Ah, well, it’s okay. I’ll be fine.’_ You reassured yourself, cleaning the glasses that once held the mojitos again in an attempt to distract yourself, even though it did little to soothe you.

The bell jangled loudly once more, and you looked up from your task to see who it was, seeing the same quiet man from before. You raised an eyebrow at him, “Back for another drink, sir?” You addressed him respectfully, your tone playful. He nodded, face looking a bit... grim...  

You’d be lying if you said that that didn’t leave you a bit confused, but you pushed your questions aside, waiting for him to take his seat on the stool again.

“The same,” He answered your unspoken question.

“Alrighty, then! Just a second.” You responded, already pouring a beer into a large glass mug. He looked more serious than usual, you noted as you handed him the requested beverage, eyebrows twitching in concern.

“Are you alright?” You asked, resting your hands on the smooth surface in front of you. He tore his gaze away from his drink, flashing you a strained smile that immediately sent alarm bells ringing in your mind.

“Fine and well,” He stated, waving a hand dismissively, “Just tired.”

Knowing that he won’t say anything else, you held the rest of your questions back and left him to his own devices, checking the time once more.

3:00PM.

Breathing a heavy sigh, you put away your phone, glancing at Ally who was speaking to the student with the books before turning to the shelves filled with drinks so you could organize them. It was the only way to kill time around here when things were quiet.

(x)

5:40PM.

You were sure that twenty minutes from now, this place would be filled to the brim. No table would be vacant, and the comfortable silence that currently hung in the air would be no more. It was already pretty full, with people that had either gotten out of work and wanted to drown their sorrows, and with people that you knew just wanted to see whatever gangmembers happened to stroll by. It was also a _lot_ rowdier, since there were bigger groups of people- either students or adults, you didn’t care. You just wanted the day to end.

It was a fairly popular bar, lit up with bright, welcoming lights and one that thankfully paid its workers rather well, so there would be plenty more people here soon. There was soft music playing in the background now, either on the radio or whatever Ally decided to play so her shift would be a little less dull.

Knowing that time seemed to fly around this hour, you glanced at your phone once more and sure enough, it was 2 minutes away from the dreaded hour. You leaned your body on the counter, the man sitting on the stool having finished his drink and now sitting there, thinking.

He was stroking his chin in thought, eyes cast downwards with a faraway look in them, which only added to your concern for this man. Still, you refrained from asking questions.

Taking a deep breath, you scanned the room, seeing everyone with their desired refreshments. Ally had gone to the back room, mumbling something about a headache coming her way, and hadn’t come back out, so it was just you.

A little intimidated, you debated on whether you should make sure she’s alright or not. It wouldn’t be safe to leave the place unattended, though, since you knew that after the alcohol loosened people’s tongues and pushed all rationality away there would be people with bad intentions.

You impatiently drummed your fingers on the wooden surface, swallowing your nervousness down, waiting for the ‘baddies’ of the town to show up at the door.

 _‘Speak of the devil,’_ you thought bitterly, eyes narrowing slightly at the sight of the three men and… what you could only guess was a woman entering the bar. You looked the quiet man’s way again, blinking when you saw that he had not moved from his hunched over position for over an hour and wincing at how uncomfortable it must be to be holding that pose.

Shaking your head slightly, you watched as the four people crossed the room to sit down at one of the few empty tables, an intimidating aura about them. Taking a deep breath, you heard the door to the back room opening, and you immediately snapped your gaze to a tired-looking Ally, who smiled uneasily at you.

“You okay?” You asked, already rounding the counter so you could go deal with the four amigos at the back. You weren’t about to let her deal with them with that face.

“I’m fine,” She breathed, nodding with a shaky smile plastered on her face. Your face scrunched up in concern, but she quickly dismissed you, so you went back to work. Slowly, carefully, you approached them, smoothing out your shirt out of habit as you faked an amiable smile.

They noticed you right away, and the man with the strange pompadour sent you a smile, muttering something to his friends before facing you again. They all had the same insignia on their clothes or, in Blondie’s and Orange hat’s case, tattooed across his chest or back. The insignias screamed danger at you, and you almost turned tail and ran, but knowing that this was the job and that they were customers, you held your ground.

You did have to admit that they were indeed making a very questionable fashion statement here, all except the one in the kimono.

“What can I get for you?” You chirped over the noise, the grip on your note pad tightening when your eyes bounced from person to person, taking in their appearances. There was pompadour man, a blond man with a long face and roguish appearance, a man with freckles dusting his cheeks and a bright orange hat on his head, and the serious looking woman, who you now confirmed was a _man._ Your eyes lingered on him longer than they should've, before a dangerous look from him had you tearing your gaze away. You focused on the friendliest one, who was pompadour man. He had a broad smile on his face.

It turns out that they all wanted different things, the man with the odd hairstyle said before ordering with a smirk, the scar around his left eye doing little to appease your rattled nerves. You flashed him a small smile, jolting at the sound of glass being slammed down on one of the tables and loud hurrah’s bouncing off the walls.

You immediately spun around to face the idiot who had done that, hand on your hip as you forgot about the four gang members behind you, “What the bloody hell- _Hey! Watch it!_ ” You bellowed, before quickly turning back to them and saying, “Be right back.”

You left the scene with haste, pushing past people while making sure you got the right order on your note pad before getting to work. You quickly made two margaritas, a mojito, and, you had to suppress a chuckle for this one, a royal fuck.

Once you finished brewing and shaking up the requested refreshments, you neatly arranged them all on a tray. You checked your surroundings in case Ally was nearby so you wouldn’t end up spilling it, before lifting it up and expertly carrying it around drunken people.

When you reached their table again, you stopped right beside them with a heavy sigh, smiling so it wouldn’t appear rude.

“So, two margaritas,” You set said drinks on the table gingerly, seeing the blond with the purple jacket pass one to the man with the pink, expensive looking kimono beside him, before taking the other one, “A mojito…” You continued, placing the minty beverage in front of pompadour man, and then the royal fuck in front of a man with an orange hat on his head. The man with the orange hat slid the drink closer, sending you a smile as thanks.

Nodding, you turned to walk away, surveying the area to see if anyone else was planning on ordering anything. Seeing everyone happy with their beverages, you returned to the counter.

“Alright,” You declared, resting your slightly clammy hands on the smooth surface, before demanding, “What’s wrong.” The old man, who at one point had introduced himself (somehow you never found his name) as Morgan, was thrown back into reality when you took the empty mug from him, his hunched over form finally straightening as he stared at you.

“…”

He didn’t respond, and you couldn’t help but sigh wearily. He looked just as worn out as you felt yourself.

“Do you need me to call anyone so they can take you home?” You tried again, raising an eyebrow at him in an attempt to get him to talk. He shook his head, before placing some cash in between the two of you and pushing it towards you, ending this one-sided conversation you seemed to be having.

“S’all fine,” Morgan had a smile on his face, but there was also something about his tired-looking expression that you couldn’t place. It looked like he was anxious. Maybe he didn’t like noisy places? But then, why would he stay for so long, staring at his drink like someone had kicked his puppy? Confused and a little frustrated, you kept your eyebrow raised, chin high. He ignored your questioning gaze.

Finally, he stood up slowly, lips pressed into a thin line as he put the stool back in its rightful place. He pulled his jacket closer to his body, glancing at you before turning away and walking out. You watched as he pushed past people, shoulders tense and head low as he went. You couldn’t help but quickly survey the area again, eyes landing on the gang members seated at the back.

What you saw did little to ease the tension that had settled on your shoulders, eyes blinking rapidly in shock at what you were seeing. Morgan’s gait was slow, sluggish, eyes trained on his feet, and since he was being so slow, it attracted the four men’s attention. That or they had some beef with him, because the looks they were sending his way with narrowed eyes were _not_ friendly. Well some, anyways, Blondie was just… staring.  

The man with the orange hat and jet-black hair had the most intense look in his eyes as they followed the older male, a strange glint in those silver orbs that sparked fear in your heart. The four of them had threat written all over their faces as you continued to observe with a pounding heart.

Were they the reason why Morgan was acting so strange…? It had to be. Either that or they liked scaring away your customers.

Eventually, you tore your gaze away from the four men, the sound of the door falling shut waking you up as you quickly shook your head to clear your mind. You began distracting yourself by grabbing a bottle and reading the label 3 or 4 times, repeating the process with whatever beverage ended up in your shaking hands. It was terrifying, to think that these people could hurt you and kill you without even trying.

_Now I **really** don’t want to be dealing with gang members. What the heck were they staring at him for?_

Oh, this was bad news. And Ally was nowhere to be seen, either.

Deciding that you needed to speak to someone, preferably close to you, about what had just taken place you searched the area for the 4'11" blonde. Your eyes bounced from person to person, looking for the server, before they were wandering around the area of the four men. Eventually, they landed on that cursed table, and you immensely regretted having looked their way again.

Silver eyes met agitated (eye color) orbs, and you froze. You debated on whether you should act as if you hadn’t noticed or not, but you knew that even before you finished that thought acting was not going to help you escape the intensity of those eyes.

_‘Ah, shit.'_

You bit your lip, hands gripping the edge of the counter to hide the tremors running up and down your limbs. Your feet, although you tried to move, were glued to the floor as time slowed. It felt like everything around the room froze in time, the rowdiness of the bar not even close to comparing to the sound of your heart thumping in your ribcage. Tendrils of fear curled around your heart, squeezing to the point it was almost painful as you finally ripped your eyes away from the smirking man, his own orbs shadowed by the hat on his head. 

(x)

You didn’t know what in the hell you had done to get this sort of attention.

No matter where you went, the sensation of being watched followed you, and so did the eyes with ill intentions hidden behind their bright color. The tremors in your arms had now travelled down to your legs, and you knew you would be forever thankful for when your shift ended and you could close the bar.

It was only you in the relatively quiet place now, since Ally’s shift had ended a little over an hour ago. She had left with the most tired look on her face, and you felt really bad for her.

Now though, you wished there was someone to feel bad for _you_ because you were sick and tired of having to deal with this place today.

You stuffed your hand in your pocket, quickly pulling out your device and checking the time.

10:20PM.

“Just forty more minutes, (name), forty minutes,” You whispered the words as if they were the only thing keeping you from toppling over the edge, and they really were. The man that had been watching you for the past _two hours_ had not stopped, even when you sent him looks that you could only hope looked annoyed. 

Whenever you would lock eyes with him again, though, he would smirk, usually hidden by the rim of his glass as he continued to drink away. You knew he was doing that to rile you up, for some damn reason or another, and it was working damn well.

“Just let the night end.” You whispered, closing your eyes for a brief moment. Most people had gone home by now and there were only six to eight people left, including _those_ four.

You continued to check the time, to the point you were doing it every five minutes. People left their money on the counter, before leaving the place, but you ignored them. They were too drunk to even care, either way. You put away all the money, counting the coins to keep you busy.

_‘Just don’t think about them.’_

Ah, but that was easier said than done.

Thankfully, and finally, pompadour man stood and sauntered over to you, placing some cash on the counter with a bright smile and thank you before turning around and going back to his compadres. They all stood to leave, not even sparing you a glance as you suppressed a yawn.

Orange Hat was behind all of them, and you thought he was going to leave so you could finally be alone and close, but then he turned around once more.

Immediately you tensed up again under his grey eyes, looking like a deer caught in the headlights as you froze once more. A deep chuckle pushed past his lips, and then he was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Just wanted to say that if you see 'dark brown eyes' for Ace and then 'Silver/grey eyes', please do tell me! I've been seeing silver eyes in every other fic and thought I should change it. Plus, I thought it fit Ace more nicely. So yeah! If you see the eye colour changing it's because I put brown first, and then silver.  
> ...... 
> 
> that's all, really.
> 
> thanks!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyaaaa. 
> 
> First of all, I want to say that this is probably one of the longest things I've ever written EVER and honestly, I'm pretty proud. I'm still not sure if anyone is ooc, though, but I certainly hope not. 
> 
> Anyway, I don't have much to say except that I hope you enjoy because I had a blast writing this even though it took me ten years. Also, I hope it doesn't bother anyone, but I took out the '*' when it comes to swearing. It was bothering me lol (I swear a crap ton).

It had been a week after the whole gang members ordeal, and they hadn’t showed up to your bar ever since. You, of course, were more than grateful for the peace. You certainly did not miss the nagging feeling of having your every move monitored by a certain pair of silver eyes.

Thinking back to those four sent a shudder down your spine, frustration bubbling up inside you. You shouldn’t be bothered by them this much, but there was something about the way they had so blatantly glared at Morgan that had your hands clenching anxiously.

Breathing a tired sigh, you glanced at the time, reading the digits that stared back at you. You gave it a look, seeing the hour.

You still had a fair amount of time before you had to get to work, and you considered taking a nap before heading over there. You feared that you would sleep in again, though, so you pushed the idea aside, as enticing as it was.

Grumbling quietly, you rubbed your eyes, another sigh pushing past your lips. Deciding to relax for a bit, you walked out of your small kitchen and to the living room, which was connected to it.

Once you flopped down on the couch, you gave the living space a once-over, eyes narrowed in thought as you scrutinized it. It was a rather small apartment, with little furniture since you were a broke university student, but it was still homely. You felt at peace here, even with the old, nicked furniture you had barely been able to afford and the darkness that usually hung in the air. The lights weren’t very good either.

Shrugging a little, you grabbed the remote and switched the TV on, feet propped up on the coffee table in front of you. You had thought about moving out a couple times, but since this apartment was located the closest to your workplace and your university, you ended up staying.

You wriggled your toes as you surfed through the channels, trying to get some warmth in your feet (you had been too lazy to put on socks), skipping cartoons and cooking shows when they didn’t interest you. Eventually, you stopped at the news channel, your hands placed over your stomach as you listened to the man delivering the news speak. There was a funny story about a kid getting stuck in a swing, and other things you didn’t bother listening to.

“…criminal activity seems to be on the rise…”

Blinking, you raised an eyebrow, curious. There was a picture of an old man, but your ears stopped working when you grew bored once again. Still, you continued to stare at the TV, lost in your own thoughts.

When the reporter was done talking about the old man, the picture changed and you blinked once more, clearing your head as you snapped back into reality.

“A gang who names themselves… terrorizing the streets at night…”

Oh. Well this you could certainly focus on. The man on the screen was now a long, black haired man with a crooked nose and a mouth in need of some serious dentistry, seeing as he was missing several teeth. A name you missed slowly crept along the bottom of the screen, and then the reporter spoke of his whereabouts. He was quite a ways from here, it seemed.

Still, you couldn’t help but start trying to make connections. You’d heard the rumors of a new gang slowly gaining more recognition. Perhaps this was one of the members?

Interested, you rubbed your chin with your fingers pensively, your mind slowly drifting to the events from last Friday. Before you could dwell on them, though, the picture changed once more and displayed a picture of someone you didn’t recognize, either. 

You idly played with your phone’s case, before pressing the power button and reading the numbers it revealed. You still had an hour before you had to head out, and you decided to get up so you could begin getting ready. Begrudgingly, you made your way to your room, eyes still fixed on the device in your hand as you typed in your password. You didn’t exactly know what you wanted to check, so you bounced from app to app, seeing that there was nothing new out there.

Tossing your phone on the bed, you heard the slight _thud_ as it landed on the mattress, and you started throwing clothes off and on. Eventually, you were dressed in a comfortable outfit. You knew that with the foul weather lately, changing into your uniform and walking there was only going to dirty it, so this was going to have to do.

Quietly, you cursed the weather, grabbing your bag and placing it on the bed before neatly folding your uniform and stuffing it inside, the shoes at the bottom of the bag. Once that was done, you began your search for the shoes you were planning on wearing, which were a pair of sneakers. You’d been so exhausted this past week that whenever you got home, you’d end up kicking them somewhere before completely forgetting about them.

This usually led to more frustration, but you quickly placed a hand over your heart and calmed down. Your room was already a mess, and turning it upside down so you could find the damn sneakers was not going to help you later on.

Teeth gnawing at your bottom lip in thought, you tried remembering where you’d left them last. Yesterday had been a particularly rough day with homework and school.

“Ugh,” You rubbed your temples, mind searching for a lost memory, “Where the hell…” You trailed off, too focused on your search to actually finish your sentence. You lifted the covers that hang off of the side of the bed, grunting when you found nothing there.

This search went on for a good fifteen minutes, and you only had half an hour before finally, _finally_ they showed up. Turns out they had been wrapped in the covers somehow, so you had walked past them at least a hundred times.

You mentally chided yourself for being so careless as you slipped the things on before grabbing your bag and leaving. Unlike last week, you weren’t stumbling around the place like a headless chicken, so instead of running to the bar in a frenzy, you chose to drive there. Luckily, the hotel you lived at had a parking space, so it was no trouble getting to your car.

Quickly, you left your apartment and made a beeline to the elevator, pressing the button to go down to said destination. The soft, typical music that played in the background came to an abrupt stop as the doors slid open with a _ding_ and you stepped into the main lobby. The elevator whisked shut behind you, and you traversed the room to outside, then to the side of the building where all the cars were parked.

Your footsteps echoed eerily in the dead silent area, the cars ordered in neat rows unmoving. Your nose picked up the heavy smell of the humid remnants of exhaust, and you almost cringed. There was also a darkness here that always sent your skin crawling and eyes glancing around nervously as goose bumps decorated your body. It never mattered if the skin was covered by your clothes or not.

It always felt as if something was stalking you, watching you through the obscure spaces in between the cars where you couldn’t notice them. You always thought something would eventually jump out and attack you when you walked past, so there was always a need to hurry screaming at you.

Not feeling like searching for your car as well, you searched your pockets for the key. Palm brushing over the small bump on your back pocket, you reached for your car keys, you thumb brushing over a few buttons before you pressed the one that unlocked it.

One among many vehicles lit up, the beams of lights chasing some of the darkness away, and you jogged up to it, gripping your bag tightly out of habit. You didn’t waste a second as you climbed inside and locked it.

Your car rumbled to life after inserting the key, and soon you were off.

(x)

The sign outside of your bar soon came into view, and you could almost hear your manager scolding you for something you hadn’t even done already. His nagging voice resonated inside your head, and your brows twitched, already expecting the annoyance and anger to come with it.

Sighing, you looked around, finding a parking spot. You ignored the surrounding buildings and alleys as you trained your eyes on the free space, determined to get there before anyone else did. You didn’t have much time now.

You cheered quietly as you reached behind you for your bag, having successfully reached your goal, before opening the door and climbing out, bag in hand. Slinging it over your shoulder, you checked both sides of the street before hopping off the sidewalk and hastily walking across the road.

Pushing the glass doors open, you were hit by a much more pleasant smell, one that you would take over the smell of that parking lot. There were no customers here yet, meaning that you were indeed on time and that you had time to change before the regulars showed up. Ally was here again, already taken her position behind the counter.

Having heard the door opening, she looked up from her phone, smiling at you, “Look who’s here on time,” She commented playfully, eyes crinkling at the corners as her smile grew bigger at your deadpan.

“Stop,” You snapped, the urge to smack that grin off her face with a chair becoming harder to fight, “It was one time.”

“Sure, sure…” She chuckled, and you sent her a nasty look, encouraging more laughter to come tumbling out of her mouth.

Annoyed, you ignored her as you walked past, entering the back room before repeating the process from the week before. You tugged your current outfit off, taking a deep breath once your shirt came off before pulling the white dress shirt on. Shoes came off, replaced by the flats.

Once you were finished with that, you exited the small room, ready to face your manager if need be. The man was absolutely dreadful. He would even yell at you in front of customers, uncaring even if they were sending exasperated glares his way. You’d be rendered into a flustered mess, even after trying to assure him that whatever had happened wouldn’t happen again. He would still voice his displeasure, but would otherwise leave you to work in peace.

Looking around, you smoothed out the annoying creases in your shirt, flats clicking on the wooden floor quietly as you came to a stop beside Ally.

“Ready?” She asked cheekily, intent on poking more fun at you for last time. A quick look from her had her giggling away, and you rolled your eyes, crossing the room to the entrance so you could flip the ‘closed’ sign to ‘open’. Her amused, barely stifled laughter followed you all the way.

“Alright, alright,” You breathed, “I get it. I’m late _sometimes_. But you can’t blame me!” You reasoned desperately, wishing for the teasing to end.

Before she could make some sort of retort, though, the bell signalling someone had entered jingled. Ally mouthed a ‘that was quick’ to you, and you spun around to face the newcomer, eyebrows knitted together because it _had_ been damn fast.

It was Morgan, in all of his elderly glory.

You blinked, your mind immediately bringing up the events from last week. He was back. And he looked unscathed, which meant the four guys had not gone after him even if it looked like they were sending death threats with their eyes.

You held your breath on purpose, unsure of how you were supposed to proceed. The normal thing to do would be to say hello, act normal, put on a smile, and that's exactly what you did because your social skills were quite lacking right now, it seemed.

“Morgan,” You greeted with a grin, but you were uneasy, “You’re back. How are you?” You asked, genuinely concerned.

He sent a bright smile your way, which calmed you slightly, “Good, good,” He said as he crossed the room, sinking into his wonted seat.

“The usual…?” Ally inquired, already reaching for the beer. When the man nodded as an answer, she got to work. And you, you were back to cleaning to make the place a little more presentable, even if Ally pointed out that she had already cleaned up.

“You’re obviously not good at your job, then.” You retorted, getting back at her for teasing you moments before. She scoffed at your words but made no other comments.

(x)

An good 3 hours into your shift, and the place was already packed with adults thirsty for the familiar buzz of alcohol in their systems. The sight of people talking and laughing away, enjoying the night in the rowdy room, and telling each other stories with exaggerated expressions made your eyes soften with fondness. It was always nice here when there were not fights.

It was now 4PM, meaning that your shift would end in five hours. Today, Ally was staying behind to clean up, since you had done it last time.

Everything had gone rather smoothly, with only a few touchy hands here and there. Nothing you couldn’t handle, though (you had promptly kicked those fools out after you had had enough, though).

The weather was still looking terrible though, and while it didn’t affect your mood too much, you still hoped that the sun would peek out from behind the grey clouds that concealed its warm glow.

Sniffling, you rubbed your nose to get rid of an itch, eyes blinking several times. You were tired, and there was still so much time before your shift ended. A little disappointed at that fact, you made your way over to the counter, where Morgan greeted you with a placid smile.

“Tired?” He asked, taking another sip from the large mug in front of him. You smiled, but it didn’t reach your eyes.

“I’m alright,” You assured him, waving a hand dismissively. The air around you both had gone from a little tense to comfortable, which relieved you. You both had last Friday on your minds. You were too afraid to ask, so you tip-toed around that topic with other questions and comments.

The noise seemed to grow in volume with each moment you spent behind the protection of the counter, away from the people as you organized bottles, back turned to the chaos behind you.

Unfortunately, that meant that you missed some things. There was a man seated at a table with a few friends who was reciting some event, eyes alight in intoxicated glee as he recited a story with slurred words. He was waving his arms around to add an effect, so much that he knocked a bottle off the table.

The sound of glass shattering and a few startled gasps had you whirling around to see what had happened, alert and fearing the worst. Your eyes quickly scanned the area for anyone with ill intentions, but no one was looking at the door in fear, so you followed their eyes and lo and behold, there on the floor laid a shattered bottle. There was no recovering that, now, you thought.

You stood still for a bit, unsure, your hand barely grazing the neck of a bottle you had been reaching for before the accident. Gulping, you exhaled through your nose, biting your lip as you slowly abandoned your place behind the safety of the counter. The walk there was silent in your ears, but you knew that there were still people talking as if nothing had happened.

And really, this was nothing, because it happened very often.

Sadly, the fact that made this a problem was the man’s expression.

He showed little concern for what he had done, shrugging before turning back to his friends again to continue where they left off. They didn’t care either since the second they could see their friend’s drunk face again, their conversation started up again, louder than ever.

Seeing that they weren’t going to apologize, you spun around, rushing to the back room so you could grab a mop and clean up. You returned not even a minute later, said cleaning tool in hand. There was also a glove sandwiched between your arm and your waist, and a trash can in your other hand.

Slowly and soundlessly, you placed the trash can on the floor, slipping the glove on with a few tugs. You carefully bent down, mindful of where you put your knees so no glass could cut through the material of your pants and pierce the tender skin underneath. Then you got to work, taking the sharp shards into your gloved hand and throwing them away, making sure you didn’t miss anything.

After that was done, you grabbed the mop and started wiping away. The stain was gone after that, and only the faint smell of beer remained.

As you straightened up to put things back to where they belonged, you noticed a familiar pair of black, expensive looking dress shoes heading your way. The fast clicking sound of the footwear colliding with the wooden floor immediately revealed the person’s identity. You didn’t even need to look at their face.

Your eyes reluctantly travelled up to the person’s face, and your shoulders visibly dropped at the familiar sight of your manager, complexion already red in anger. It wouldn’t surprise you if he had been practicing his screeching in front of a mirror.

_‘Ah, shit-‘_

He hadn’t even stopped walking before he began scolding you, his voice booming and raucous. It was easy to hear what he was spitting, even amongst all the ruckus.

And now that he had an excuse to scold you, the man went ham on you, and rather dramatically.

“How could you let this happen-”

You tuned him out the second words began tumbling out of his mouth, nodding in the right places so he wouldn’t notice your absent mind. Whenever you had made the mistake of listening, his words stung and hurt you in ways that led to the worst cases.

Once the infuriating man had finished spewing nonsense and strutted back to wherever the hell he had come from, you let your shoulders slump as you breathed an exhausted sigh.

Again, he berated you for doing nothing wrong.

It was an accident, too, so really, there was no one to blame.

You stared at the spot where your manager once stood, sucking in a deep breath as you turned to the man who was now dead silent. There was not an ounce of guilt on his face, and you let out a rushed apology. You weren’t sorry, not one bit, but it was the only thing that tumbled past your lips.

You realized soon after the words left your mouth that the room had gone dead silent and that you were being stared at by the people around you.

  _‘Great… just what I needed.’_

Your body went rigid at the feeling of you didn’t even know how many pair of eyes on you, and you bit your bottom lip, teeth digging painfully into the flesh. You were always bad with attention. And this was the kind that was _unnecessary_ and _unwanted._

Unable to take anymore of this awkward silence, you slowly retreated to the back room, shoulders drawn back as you closed the door. You let go of the handle when the soft click met your ears and echoed in the slightly dusty room, your hands moving to grip the edge of your shirt as you blew air through your mouth.

You tried to act unfazed, but truly, the man’s words would burn like hell.

You remained in that room until you began hearing chatter grow louder again, bit by bit, and that was when you finally left. The fingers you had curled around the handle tightened when you finally got a peek, and seeing that no one’s eyes sought you out, you cautiously slipped outside. Relief washed over you like a wave when no one’s heads swivelled back to you.

You decided to take it easy for a while, and so you bee-lined to the counter, (eye colour) orbs blinking at the new person sitting on one of the wooden stools. There wasn’t anything striking about this new patron, so you left them to their own devices as you passed by, focusing on the bottles the filled the shelves again. You sincerely hoped nothing else would happen. You could deal with your manager once, but more than that and it was going to be difficult to maintain your composure.  

At the thought of the short man, you clenched your free hand, eyes skimming over the label. No words entered your brain though, as you were too lost in your own world to really process anything happening around you.

It was an accident, so why did he have to be such a pissbaby?

Irritated slightly, you returned the bottle to its rightful place, spinning around at the sound of the bell ringing through the crowded room. Immediately, you registered the bright orange hat with the two smileys on it. The cartoonish grin and frown stood out more in the lighting. Eyes trailing down to the newcomers face, your suspicions were confirmed as you recognized the owner of the cowboy hat. Your nose scrunched up, waiting for the rest of the group to show up.

This time, though, it seemed the raven-haired, very much shirtless man (how was he shirtless in this weather?), was alone. You stopped your eyes from going down, unable to miss the way his shorts rested so low on his hips.

 _‘Oh my god, stop, (name).’_ you scolded yourself firmly, knowing that if you ogled him, he’d notice and you’d be diving into a fiery pit somewhere in hell.

Lips pulled into a tight line, you watched from where you stood as he sat down at the same table as the week before which was surprisingly empty. You supposed you shouldn’t be too surprised though, since word around the place spread like wildfire. News of four gang members entering your bar would easily be passed on like a disease.

When he settled down, eyes boring holes into the back of Morgan’s head, you scanned the room full of patrons in a desperate search for your friend. She was nowhere to be seen though, so serving him was up to you now.

Biting back a curse, you rounded the bar and slipped past wandering customers and over to his location, chewing on your lips nervously. The second you were standing beside the table, his gaze snapped to your (eye color) eyes, a shiver racking your spine at the emotion behind them.

It was like he was on a hunt, staring his prey with such ominous eyes that one look would send anyone running for the hills. You almost wished you were one of those people.

“Can I get you anything?” You inquired politely, blocking his view of the innocent, older man with your much smaller frame. You placed your hands on your hips, cautious and with nerves rattled as you both shared some intense eye contact. He was not here for a good reason.

“Same as last week,” He responded, smiling a toothy, polite smile at you, one that would have many swooning. Many, except you. You were more than a little intimidated, which allowed you to see the hunter itching to be released.

You gave a curt nod, spinning and rushing to get the requested beverage. If he was bothered by your lack of a response, you didn’t really know, but you didn’t really care. You kept a close eye on the strange man as you prepared his drink, as if daring him to try anything remotely odd.

He noticed, and chuckled as he pulled out his phone and focused on that instead. You felt accomplished at having been spared of the constant staring, but it was then your suspicions grew at how facile your small victory had been. What in the hell was this guy planning?

Once you were finished with your task, you made your way back and slid his drink over to him quietly, eyes trained on the top of his head. He was still distracted, only looking up when the glass entered his line of vision.

He tucked his phone in his pocket, flashing you another smile in thanks before gulping half the drink down. You were shocked at that, to say the least. Not knowing what else to do, you let him be.

“Is there something going on with that guy over there?” You asked in a hushed voice so no one else would hear. At the sound of someone’s voice, Morgan jumped up and looked straight at you, slamming his phone on the wooden surface to hide the bright screen. “Sorry,” You apologized sheepishly, an apologetic smile on your face.

“No, no, it’s… it’s fine,” He responded, before he turned his body at a snail’s pace, taking in the sight of the other man distracted by his own device.

“…”

He didn’t reply.

“I can tell him to stop staring at you, if you want,” You tried, but you didn’t know if your words were going to have an effect on someone so much stronger and larger than you. Still, you could try.

He shook his head, pushing the empty mug in front of him your way, “That’s alright. I was just about to leave anyway,” He gave a small smile, handing you the right amount of money as well.

“Have a good night, (name).”

You bid him a good night, eyes trained on the back of his head as he left.

The sound of a chair sliding across the wood flooring loudly and something being slammed on a table had you jolting at the unexpected noise. You tore your gaze away from the retreating form to where orange hat was, seeing he was tossing some money on the table carelessly, glass already empty as he too rushed outside, the door hanging open before it fully closed. The jingling of the bell felt eerie, creepy, now that the two were gone to who knew where.

_Oh no._

You cursed, not caring if anyone heard, but not doing much else. You didn’t dare leave this place, lest you lose your only source of income.

_Damn it all!_

The reason as to why you were so angry was unknown to you, but the sight of the two men leaving so suddenly had you panicking slightly. Ally was back now, but she hadn’t seen any of the events that had just transpired. You had been the only witness.

You stuffed your hand in your pocket, pulling out your phone as you turned it on. You read the time that stared back up at you.

10:30PM.

Your shift was almost over. You could get through this.

But then what? What could you do? You didn’t know where each person went, and searching for them would a complete waste of time and energy. Energy you needed for slogging away to meet several deadlines. Ugh, university.

(x)

“Bye, Ally,” You uttered, already walking through the door as she waved her farewells, “Have a good night!” You called for good measure, not wanting to come off as rude.

You had somehow managed to calm down in that half an hour, breathing back to its ordinary rhythm and heart not threatening to jump out of your chest. Inhaling deeply and letting the fresh air fill your lungs, you breathed a heavy sigh. Your feet and calves were killing you from standing all day, and you had a massive headache from all the noise.

You had been slightly jealous when people retired for the night, heading home where it was cosy and quiet. Luckily and finally, it was now your turn to go home.

(x)

“Did you do it?” A man’s voice asked through a phone. He gave the man’s body a look, heel digging into his ribs as he wheezed. His eyes were wide in fear as he held his bleeding nose, the rest of his face peppered in darkening bruises that looked painful.

There was some sort of tingling in his fingers and knuckles, and he spared them a quick glance, seeing the skin there stained a violent scarlet colour, torn and bleeding. The pain was nothing more than a dull ache, though, as adrenaline ran wild through his veins.

“Yeah,” He answered, pushing down on the man’s ribcage when he started struggling again, an unspoken threat hanging heavily in the humid air of the alleyway.

There was an exhale, and then, “Anything, then?”

Ace shook his head no, but then remembered he was phoning someone, “No.” He admitted.

The man had refused to talk, even if he had been pinned to the nearest wall. He had pulled back a fist in one last warning, tired of the man’s constant refusal to cooperate. When he had shaken his head stubbornly in one last no, he started throwing punches.

Even then, after being beaten to a pulp, he wasn’t willing to give up any useful information.

A grunt met his ears, and quickly scanned the area to see if there was anyone there, putting more pressure on the writhing form beneath him. A pained noise worked its way up the other man’s throat, but he ignored it completely.

“You know what Pops said, then,” The man pointed out as a reminder, though he already knew.

“Already know, yeah.” He replied affirmatively.

“Good. Now get to it, I don’t want to be the one hauling your ass back here if something goes wrong,” The voice grumbled, but there was the hint of amusement behind it. He gave a short laugh, before hanging up and pocketing the device.

His smile faded as he turned back to the man underneath his boot, a serious look replacing the happiness that tugged his lips upwards. His expression was blank as he stared down at the mess of a person.

The man was panting heavily, still cradling his broken nose with shaking hands as he waited for his next move. Silence was the only thing to be heard before he raised his leg and promptly kicked him in the face, heel digging into his cheek as he smashed his face into the concrete below.

(x)

“Okay, just need to find my god damn car now.” You grumbled tiredly, thumb already on the button that unlocked your trusty vehicle. You were walking slowly, trying to keep the tapping of your shoes as quiet as possible.

Everything around you felt off, and it wasn’t just paranoia this time. There was the familiar feeling of dread slowly creeping up your back, the hairs on the back of your neck standing on end. You were tense, and you were scared. Of what, you didn’t know, but the eeriness of the street was doing little to soothe your rattled nerves.

The bleakness of the cloudy night made you berate yourself for what seemed the 100th time, annoyed at the fact that you didn’t have an umbrella. If it were to rain now, you’d be very, very frustrated.

There was a slight bounce to your gait as you trudged past several buildings and alleyways, and that was only because you were trying to hurry. You couldn’t get very far though, and all thanks to the constant ache in your feet.

You rolled your shoulders, finding little relief since your bag was in the way. It didn’t keep you from trying you though.

“Alright- alright, you’re fine. Everything’s fine.” You reassured yourself weakly, but you were still on high alert. Gang activity had been going up the scale at an alarming rate, and it did not assuage you. The fact that you were alone, at night, with a possible stalker had you whirling around to check the perimeter.

Seeing no one following you, you sucked in a breath, exhaling shakily.

“Stop being such a baby, you idiot.” You reprimanded yourself firmly, fighting to keep your voice steady.

You went silent then, choosing to focus on finding your damn car instead. You’d spare a couple rundown buildings a glance, before moving on, grip tightening around your car keys. You kept trudging forwards, eyes on the sidewalk as you thought about homework and other things in an attempt to rid yourself of the unwelcomed feeling, when you walked by another dead quiet alleyway.

You didn’t know what made you want to look in there, but your gaze snapped upwards and into the inky darkness of the alley. Squinting, you examined the place, not sure if you wanted to thank your eyesight or curse it when you saw the body of a man laying there, unmoving.

Your heart jumped into your throat, and you staggered back, eyes open wide in shock and the exhaustion pulling at your eyelids gone. Blinking several times, you rubbed your eyes with your palm, muttering curses and hoping, praying, that what you saw was not a dead body, but an intoxicated asshole who had somehow managed to end up passed out in an alleyway.

“Oh shit, oh shit, what the actual hell,” You breathed, unsure of what to do. Slowly, you let your hands fall at your sides, before they were clinging to the material of your shirt. Well, whoever the hell it was, you weren’t about to leave a person out here to die of alcohol poisoning as terrified as you were.

“Uh… okay… uh…” You began, searching for the right words, “Hello? Are- Are you alright?” You called, taking feeble steps towards the body, teeth gnawing at your bottom lip at the lack of a response.

This guy better not come back to life and jump at you because if he does, you might just end up shitting bricks.

 

(x)

 

He was sprinting, ducking, and making sharp turns when he thought he was right. There was an addictive, burning feeling bleeding through his legs as he fled the scene, the adrenaline coursing through his veins making his limbs hum and blood sing.

It turns out his target ended up calling backup in the middle of their little game of tag, because now he could hear the sound of marching shoes hot on his heels. This didn’t bother him though, that ever confident smirk on his face. He could hear the angry yells of the man’s comrades as they ran after him, and he almost laughed. To him, this was just another common thing.

The bitter taste of alcohol rested at the base of his tongue, not quite gone even it had been well over an hour since he had drank anything. A breeze threatened to blow his hat off his head, the headwear barely clinging to the top of his head before he was enveloping it with the palm of his hand to keep it from flying.

He felt giddy as he made another sharp turn, finally exiting the dark and foul-smelling alleyways and rotting buildings. Slowing down to a stop, he looked around for anything that might jump out at him, the exhilarating experience making his lungs beg for air and a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. He soon came to the realization that he was alone.

The sound of panting, his own panting, was the only thing to be heard in the otherwise dead streets, the people living around here having retired for the night already. Inhaling deeply, he let the stench of the city fill his lungs, the scent already burned into his mind.

Everything faded away gradually as he stood on the sidewalk, the adrenaline, the feeling of freedom, and the burning in his calves grew to the point he was wincing and giving them a gentle massage with a quiet laugh.

“Went too far, I guess,” He breathed, sighing afterward.

And now to find his way back home to his brothers, and to find a way to lose the people chasing him.

“Speak of the devil,” He muttered, amused, as he glanced behind him, already hearing the enraged howls of the men.

Hopping off the sidewalk, he hurried across the road. He could keep running, but straying further and further from his home was not going to help him get back. His silver eyes landed a dark Chevrolet Cruze. He couldn’t tell the exact colour because of how dark it was, but even so he strolled up to it. He knew he shouldn’t be looking at cars, especially at this time, but he _was_ curious. Plus, he could easily fight them off if the need arose.

He fiddled with the handle of the trunk, giving it a small tug, expecting it to be locked. He staggered back a little when it opened, and he blinked in surprise, unsure. A random guy, opening a car in the middle of the night; it was probably very suspicious.

When the hollering got even louder, he looked up, eyes darting in the direction he had come from.

Whoever had left their car like this had been very stupid, Ace noted. Even so, he was thankful because he now had a place to hide. Climbing in, he grunted in annoyance at the tight space, his body a tad too large to fit comfortably.

Once he settled down at a rather awkward position, he reached over and pulled the car door shut, the sound of it falling shut echoing before everything was quiet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One hell of a ride indeed.
> 
> See ya next chapter!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I'm posting this in a rush because I have to head out. Anyways, things take an odd turn here, and I'm not sure if I'm 100% proud of this chapter or not. I twas one of the tougher ones. ALSO it might have a lot of mistakes because I whipped this one up in a rush, so yeah if you see any just know that I'm sorry!
> 
> Bye! <3

 

You should’ve stayed home. You should’ve called in sick and told someone to work your shift because right now, right now you did not want to be here. You did not want to be in some dark, rundown alleyway that reeked of drugs, rotting trash, and God knew what else. You did not want to be approaching someone’s body with feeble steps, clutching your phone for dear life in case something or someone jumps out at you.

Your heart was thumping loudly in your ribcage, the pinpricks of dread running down your spine making your body tense with anticipation.

“Sir…?” You tried again, your voice wavering and eyes snapping upwards, waiting to see if anything would assault you.

Once you were close enough to the man’s body, you kneeled down on the grimy cement and placed a tentative hand on his shoulder, slowly flipping him onto his back. He flopped onto his back, unmoving and unresponsive. It was then that you noticed the blood that covered the palm of his hand, and immediately you directed your attention to his head.

The second you got a good look at his face, you reeled back with an involuntary gasp, choking back a gag as you slapped a hand over your mouth. You willed your feet to put more distance between the two of you, and it wasn’t until you were almost out of the alley did you stop scrambling away.

His face- what in the bloody hell had happened to his face.

There was an enormous bruise on his right cheek, colored a nasty purple that moved up to his temple, and several cuts that still hadn't stopped bleeding. His nose, which had also taken a hit and was now crooked and swollen, was also bleeding copiously.

Perhaps it was the blood on the side of his head that made it seem worse than it actually was, but it still wasn’t a pretty sight to lay your eyes upon. The side of his skull was bleeding profusely, coloring his hair a much darker, disgusting shade than it probably was.

It was clear that judging by the amount of blood (you weren’t a doctor), he was struck with something stronger than a fist. You paused, sucking in a shuddering breath in an attempt to calm your racing heart, the sound of it pounding in your ears blocking out any other noise around you.

The streetlights illuminated part of the alley, enough for you to notice the blood that painted the floor and part of the wall. There was an old, rusty pipe not too far from your position on the ground, the uppermost part of it covered in the crimson liquid. The attacker had probably ripped it off the wall to gain the advantage. It was bent from the impact.

You swallowed hard, unsure of how to proceed. You couldn’t just leave this man to die! That is if he wasn’t already six feet under already. There was no telling if he was alive with that gaping wound covering the entire side of his head.

You noticed that while trying to get away from the body, you had dropped your phone somewhere. You searched the ground before you found it deeper inside the alley. You had probably dropped it in your struggles to get away.

Hesitantly, you crawled to your fallen device, slowly reaching out for it before quickly pulling your hand back once you had it. You typed in your password with trembling fingers, wide eyes glancing to the body once or twice as if it was going to come back to life and kill you.

Eventually, after some struggling, you phoned 911 and placed the phone to your ear, feeling a bit sick to your stomach at the sight of so much blood.

(x)

He’d been in the back of this tiny car for an hour, and even then he didn’t dare to come out. He knew he could take whoever was outside, but with the number of footsteps he was hearing, he didn’t think it would be the wisest choice.

While waiting for the men to finally quit searching, he had pulled out his phone, tapping at whatever app or article piqued his interest. Eventually, he had grown bored of fiddling with the items that filled up the tiny space, and had decided to text his brothers, hoping that one of them was awake.

It turns out, after much spamming from the raven-haired man, that Marco was awake. He didn’t know why he was, he didn’t ask.

**_Fire-Boy 12:43AM_ **

_hey_

**_Fire-Boy 12:45AM_ **

_i know you’re awake_

_hey_

_hey_

**_Fire-Boy 12:46AM_ **

_don’t ignore me, man_

He continued spamming his friend until after a few minutes of silence, he finally got a reply from him.

**_Pineapple-Head 12:48AM_**

_Ace, where the hell are you?_

**_Fire-Boy 12:50AM_ **

_i’m in a car_

_don’t ask me whose, because i don’t know._

**_Pineapple-Head 12:51AM_**

_What do you mean you’re in a car?_

_What is the even supposed to mean?_

Ace could feel the shock behind the words through the screen, and he had to cover his mouth with his hand for a second to stifle his laughter. Marco, as literate as he was, had even made a mistake while typing.

**_Pineapple-Head 12:53AM_**

_Ace, answer me._

**_Fire-Boy 12:53AM_**

_first, that*_

_second, it means that I am in a car. hiding._

**_Pineapple-Head 12:54AM_**

_First, don’t be a smart ass. Second, why in the hell are you hiding in a car?_

_Did you get in trouble?_

_Ace I said I didn’t want to be the one hauling your ass back here._

He made a small noise of amusement and had to take a deep, steadying breath so he wouldn’t burst out laughing at how worried his poor brother was.

**_Fire-Boy 12:55AM_ **

_relax, i’m not in trouble_

_just chilling in this car_

_i’ll be back soon. Don’t worry._

He turned off his phone after the last message, stuffing it back in his pocket and instead focusing on listening. There were fewer footsteps, and they sounded more distant, but he still didn’t climb out. Even if his patience was running thin.

(x)

After contacting the authorities and getting whoever they needed to the scene, you’d been questioned, you’d been checked over, you’d been asked to explain yourself and what you had seen several times, and then you were going home.

Everything had happened so fast that it was all now a blur in your head. The people, their faces, you couldn’t remember them. You’d been so shaken up at the thought of being assaulted yourself that trying to recall who had been talking to you was impossible. Was this what these gangs had been doing?

It certainly hadn’t been the highlight of your week, seeing a person’s body lying in an alleyway with a wound that was obviously meant to kill them. It also didn’t help that the whole event left you jittery as you stumbled to your car, which thankfully was not too far away from your location now.

You heaved a heavy sigh when you spotted the dark vehicle, almost making a run for it if you hadn’t noticed the people that were sticking their noses in other people’s cars. They were looking for something, but judging by the look on their faces, they weren’t exactly the most friendly.

You decided to take a more silent approach, trying hard to silence the already quiet tapping of your shoes on the road as you slowly made your way over to your car. Reaching for your keys, you prayed that none of them took notice of the lone woman just trying to get home.

You concentrated on your breathing instead of the panic that was threatening to settle in your heart, feeling sick to the stomach at the thought of what these people could do to you if you took a wrong step.

Once you were close enough to the door, you held your hand out, your fingers brushing over the familiar handle. Your fingers curled around it, and then you were pressing the unlock button on your keys, cursing the lights that turned on.

Not waiting for anyone’s reaction, you climbed inside, thrust the key into the keyhole, and waited impatiently as your car rumbled to life. Once you were settled and had thrown the seatbelt over your torso after several impatient tugs, you were off, backing out of your parking spot before driving away to your home.

(x)

When the sound of the door opening and the jingling of keys reached his ears, he blinked, confused. He didn’t remember a lot. He remembered texting Marco, but then everything was foggy.

Had he fallen asleep?

Mouthing a string of colorful words, he listened closely, cursing his narcolepsy. There was muffled, ragged breathing coming from somewhere in the front of the car, and he assumed it was the driver. It sounded agitated, nervous as if someone was following whoever was driving the car.

Then it started backing out of the parking spot, and then he realized there was no latch inside the trunk that allowed him to escape.

So, essentially, he had trapped himself inside a car without even realizing it. Go figure.

He uttered a curse then, realizing that he was going to be in a hell lot of trouble once he got home. If he ever did make it back. There was no knowing where this person was headed.

He couldn’t just start banging on the ceiling, since one, the driver would probably not hear him, and two they would probably try calling the police on him if they knew who he was. He’d been on the news several times already, due to his antics, so he wouldn’t be surprised if someone recognized him.

But he also didn’t want to be here anymore. What if this person was driving out to visit their grandmother off in the mountains? He sure as hell wouldn’t be invited inside for homemade oatmeal and raisin cookies, that’s for sure.

He decided to wait it out. Not like he had any other options, anyway.

He braced himself by placing his hands on either side of the trunk, thankful that he wasn’t sensitive to motion sickness. Puking inside a stranger’s trunk was not something he wanted to cross out on his bucket list.

At a particularly sharp turn, he ended up bonking the back of his head, and he grunted loudly without even realizing it, his hat tumbling off and onto his lap. He ran a hand through his black, messy hair, mentally questioning how whoever was driving had even managed to get their license. Then he grabbed his hat and placed it back in its rightful place, making sure it didn’t fall again.

Other than a couple other sharp turns, the ride went along smoothly. Well, it could’ve been smoother, but he was in someone’s trunk, after all. Requesting that they go slower was also off his list. Several things bumped into his bodies, like the jumper cable, the first aid kit, and the reusable shopping bags that kept getting in his face.

He didn’t know if this was the longest drive of his life, or if he was just a very impatient person.

Eventually, the car slowed down to a complete stop, and Ace went silent, holding his breath so he could listen. He couldn’t hear anything. Had they left?

Ace shifted in his spot, ear pressed against the wall to see if he could pick up any other sounds. He didn’t. He shifted again, his back aching from how uncomfortable he was. In the process of adjusting to a better position, he knocked into several things, the jumper cable somehow ending up tangled around his feet.

He figured that he was just very impatient by personality.

(x)

You didn’t know how you hadn’t crashed your car yet.

No, you weren’t an excellent driver, and with the tremors running up and down your arms from how agitated you were, it was a miracle you hadn’t rammed the hood of your car into a utility pole or a streetlight.

Letting out a shuddering breath, you slowly drove your car into the first parking spot you laid your eyes upon. Resting your forehead against the steering wheel once it went dead, you pulled the key out and closed your eyes, breathing a tremulous sigh.

This had not been your best day.

It was silent in the small space, your steady breathing being the only thing that echoed inside the vehicle. Eventually, you sat up, rubbing your tired eyes with your hands as you slumped back into your seat.

You remained in that spot for God knew how long, grateful for the silence that hung in the air and for the fact that you were now away from danger.

And then you heard it.

Pulling your hands back, your face scrunched up in confusion, eyebrows furrowed. What was that noise?

You held your breath, listening attentively for any more noise, and then you heard the sound of something being pushed across the floor, an indistinct grunt and more things being moved around.

Instantly, you straightened up, jaw locked and body tense as you came to the heart-stopping realization that _someone was in your motherfucking car._

This day just kept getting better and better, didn’t it?

You glanced behind you to make sure there was no one there, and then you noticed the long ice scraper you kept on top of the seats. You grabbed it, hand wrapping around the stick as you pulled it to you.

Instinctively, you reached for the door handle and threw the door open after that, the ruckus in the back of your car halting immediately. Your foot collided with the dirty ground of the familiar parking lot, and you squeezed through the small gap between your car and another one.

When you were finally out of the small gap and out in the open, you let your eyes fall on the trunk of your dark blue Chevrolet. Your mouth had gone dry, heart thumping fiercely against your ribcage as you stared with wide eyes at your swaying car. There was another grunt that sounded more desperate, more impatient, and you almost fainted right then and there.

How did you even get into these messes? Just, how- why was this happening to you? You were a broke-ass student; just how did you deserve this?

You snatched your phone from your pocket, ready to dial for help if it came to it. You were going to need help after this, since you were sure since you were about to commit the biggest mistake in your entire life.

You inched your way towards your car, hand slowly curling around the latch, uncertainty written all over your face as your mind began making up excuses. Maybe an animal had gotten in your car. Maybe it was nothing and you were just paranoid. Maybe, maybe, maybe…

Deep down though, you knew that none of those were true, and tricking your body like that was only going to bite you in the ass afterward. So, like any other typical character in a horror movie, you held up your weapon and popped the trunk instead of running.

“ ** _What the actual fu_** -” You began in a shriek, horrified, only to get cut off as a large body emerged, successfully knocking into you. You fell to the ground with a startled gasp, grunting at the pain that blossomed in the back of your head from the collision.

“Finally!” Someone cried triumphantly, and that’s when you noticed the orange hat.

Needless to say you were up and beating him with you impromptu weapon in a second.

“Ow! Hey! Stop!” He shielded his face with his arms, taking a step back, but you were merciless. The only thing in your vision was the blue end of the ice scraper as you continued your onslaught of panic-driven swings.

“What the bloody hell were you doing in my car!?” You howled, outraged, each word punctuated by several blows of the brush end of the ice scraper. He tried taking your weapon from you, his complaints falling on deaf ears, but you were having none of it.

A particular hard hit to the side had him grunting and hissing a curse before he finally ripped the scraper from your grasp, much to your dismay. He held it above his head, the both of you panting and staring each other down.

“It’s you! It's- Why the _hell_ were you in my car?! What were you doing in there?!” You bellowed, “Where are the rest of you?! What do you want?!” You fired one question after another, taking a step forward and placing your hands on his chest, pushing him away forcefully. He stumbled backward, but recovered fairly quickly.

“Hey, lady, relax! I-” He wasn’t even finished talking before you were hitting him again, this time with your fists, “Will you stop that!” He let go of your make-shift weapon, letting it drop to the ground with a _clang_ before he was grabbing your wrists.

You tugged and struggled against him, resorting to kicking, even. His next move was a blur as he pulled you close to him. He knew this wasn’t going to be enough though since then he was trapping you between the trunk and his body. You were forced to sit down on the steel surface, trembling as adrenaline coursed through your veins.

“…”

The both of you were silent. He was waiting for you to calm down, that much was obvious, but you? You were sweating bullets, feeling hot and your cheeks burning as you both realized that this position was not exactly the wisest move.

His hips were nestled comfortably between your legs, pressing into your lower region as he held your wrists in front of you, his pants doing little to hide the cut V of his hipbones. You were petrified, both in fear and in shock at the proximity of this man, and so was he.

He was obviously not afraid, no, not when he towered over you easily at a good 6 feet. You thought you saw the faintest hint of red in his cheeks, though, words slowly working their way up his throat. You were already yelling, though.

“Get off me.” You seethed, poison in your words, “Get off me!” You started again, wriggling in his vice-like grip. He was ignoring you though, looking up and over your shoulder at something else- or more like someone. He grunted, letting you go before you heard what sounded like a battle cry heading your way. You craned your head to look, jumping off of your trunk and scrambling away from the _two_ men now squaring off.

They were at each other’s throats, slogging away. Orange-hat had the advantage, dodging and landing a few hits of his own expertly as you stood on the sidelines, mouth agape and eyes wide as saucers. He was testing his opponent, a smirk curling his lips upwards as he circled him like a predator.

The other man was enraged, going on and on about some fallen comrade while trying to punch him, missing terribly. Hell, even you had been better with that damn ice scraper.

Eventually, the raven-haired man grew tired, or bored, and promptly socked him in the jaw before kicking him in the stomach, sending his opponent flying into the back of another vehicle. There was a sickening smack as the man’s head collided with the car, and then he was out cold.

The winner of the fight then turned to look at you again, seeing you still standing there and raising an eyebrow. You were shocked too, and you didn’t know if it was stupidity or fear gluing your feet to the floor, successfully keeping you from retreating into the safety of the building.

Darkness began to cloud your vision, and you blinked rapidly in an attempt to keep it away. It was futile, though. No matter how hard you tried, though, you couldn’t help or stop it. You stumbled backward, catching yourself but just barely. Your vision was blurry, distorted, and then you were falling, a hand reaching out to you as you toppled head-first into inky blackness.

(x)

“She fainted.” He pointed out stupidly and to no one in particular, surprised.

Really, he could understand you. You were probably not used to the sight of blood and were probably not fond of violence, but by the way you had been hitting him with that damn stick, he thought you’d be fine with witnessing another fight. You worked at a bar, for God’s sakes.

Still, he reached out to you, hand outstretched in an attempt to keep you from cracking your skull open on the concrete. He managed to grab your wrist, slowing down the fall but not quite preventing your head from colliding with the ground painfully. He winced in sympathy at that, knowing that you were going to have to deal with a headache when you awoke.

Now, he was just looking down at you, unsure. He didn’t know what to do. What could he do? You were staying in this building, obviously, but he couldn’t just waltz in there with an unconscious woman and expect everyone to be okay with it. He was a gang member, after all.

Uncertain, he pulled his phone from his pocket, about to call one of his brothers for help, before he saw the time. It was close to 2 AM. Marco would probably be asleep by now, and he didn’t want to bother him.

Inhaling deeply, he put his phone back in his pant pocket, head swivelling to look at you once more. You were still unconscious, lips slightly parted and eyes closed.

He couldn’t just stay here, though. Judging by the man he had just knocked out cold, they were still searching for him and had followed the car here. Who knows how many of them there were out there.

Not wanting to drag you into anything more, he carefully threw your arm around his broad shoulders, a hand at your waist as he picked you up and off of the filthy ground. Your head lolled to the side, resting on his shoulder, and he stood up straight. He spared your car a quick glance, seeing your bag in the passenger seat.

His eyes snapped from you to the bag a number of times, before he was carefully balancing you, keeping you close to his body so you wouldn’t fall. Once his hand grazed the handle, he pulled the door open and pulled the bag out, closing the door before slinging it over his free shoulder.

Then he was trudging to the building’s entrance, painfully slow as he continuously kept you from falling to the ground. If that were to happen, you’d be waking up with a fresh new bruise on your forehead.

Ace sighed tiredly, his legs, arms, and mind begging him to drop you and go home so he could finally get his much-needed rest. He didn’t have the heart to do that to you, not now, when you’d been dragged into something much bigger than most people realized.

(x)

It was instantaneous. The second Ace was walking through the double doors that led inside the old looking building, he was being sent wary glances from passersby and staff. He ignored it, of course, choosing to drag your limp body to a secluded corner so he could rummage through your bag for your room key. Ace had to whisper random things into your ear to make it look like the two of you were in for a night of fun so he wouldn't be hounded by the people here. He could almost hear Haruta and Thatch laughing at him.

He sat you down on a chair, a hand enveloping your shoulder so you’d stay upright before he pulled away and began his search for the key.

He shoved books, folders, and other items aside, grumbling when he didn’t find what he was searching for in that area. Zipping it back up, he searched the smaller pockets, finally finding the small card he was seeking for.

**ROOM 102**

Well then.

Stuffing the key in his front pocket with a quick nod, he picked you up and began the trek to the newly designated location. He moved quickly, like he was trained to do so, but not because he was following someone like usual, but because having holes burned into the back of your head by multiple pairs of suspicious eyes was not the most pleasant of feelings.

When you two made it to the elevator, he breathed a sigh of relief, leaning against the wall for a brief moment so he could press the button that he hoped would lead him to the right floor. Taking the stairs sounded tedious, especially since now he was lugging a body around.

He wouldn’t have been so troubled if it weren’t for the injuries that had reopened. His knuckles were bleeding, not profusely, but it was starting to become problematic. Not only that, he was now sporting a new cut on his cheekbone (also bleeding), and several new bruises.

Not a serious hindrance, but a nuisance.

The elevator slowed to a stop, doors sliding open, and then he was walking again. They closed, and it was off to its new destination.

The dark haired man stopped walking for a moment, exhaustion bleeding through each limb, before he hefted you up higher, seeing that you were gradually slipping. Luckily, your room was not too far away, as he made it to said area fairly quickly.

He slid the card into the lock, a green light signaling that it had been unlocked and that he could proceed. He used his shoulder to push the door open, stumbling inside with you in tow.

Ace completely ignored his new surroundings, searching with tired grumbling for the closest bedroom. He noticed a door, and with a slight grimace, he dragged his body and yours to that room. He had guessed correctly.

Once he saw the bed, his body started screaming and protesting again, telling him to just lie down and sleep. Instead, he approached the bed, and let you fall on it. Your legs dangled off of the side, and he grabbed your ankles, placing them on the bed. He didn’t bother with the covers.

Exiting the small bedroom, he spotted the couch, having ignored it previously. The sigh of relief he let out was lost in the pillows that decorated the arms of the sofa as he plopped down on it face first.

He wasn’t even fully settled before he was already fast asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :D


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello hello hello, my fellow friends.
> 
> Yes, I know, this is really late, and I'm sorry for that. I do have a reason for my absence, though, and that is... well, I've been feeling kinda low, and lost inspiration, so I couldn't really type anything up. Plus, I had a major case of writer's block, and still kinda do, but I managed to pull through and write this. I'm not exactly proud of it, but with some editing (and hopefully some criticism/advice from y'all ;v;) I can fix it. Yes, there will be mistakes, maybe more than before, but I really wanted to post something again.
> 
> Anyways, I hope you still enjoy, and that this wasn't too bad. Idk. It just seems.... lacking right now.
> 
> DO send me your comments, though. It is a pleasure to hear from you all and any advice/tips/love you send is vvvvery appreciated. Love y'all. Thank you for all the kudos and bookmarks <3

Waking up was something that you were not fond of doing. Especially when you had gotten little sleep or you had to go out somewhere. You also weren’t elated by the fact that your dumbass neighbor would pull parties out of nowhere. The steady beat of the music would pound against your walls, and no matter how much complaining you did, he’d never quiet down. You wondered how he was still alive. Surely there was someone who wanted to kill him just as much as you did.

Today, though, you weren’t sure why you were feeling like the dead. You were tired, your head was throbbing annoyingly, and you couldn’t remember jack shit from the night before. Had you been drinking? If so, what the hell had you drank?

You shivered, hand searching blindly for the covers so you could drape them over your freezing frame. You didn’t know what was up with the strange weather fluctuating irregularly lately, but right now it was cold as ice in your bedroom.

It was a full minute before you realized that you hadn’t slept with the soft, comforting blankets over you, and you frowned. Eyes fluttering open, you groaned as you took in the sight of your messy bedroom, thankful that the curtains weren’t drawn. That did leave you questioning just how you had stumbled through your apartment without injuring yourself, assuming that you had, in fact, drank yourself stupid.

But you didn’t remember anything involving drinks. All you remembered was getting out of work, walking down the streets, and the rest was a blur. You must’ve been pretty drunk, you thought.

Even so, the thought wasn’t all that soothing. In fact, it only troubled you even more. You hadn’t drunk anything in months, making sure you wouldn’t be heading down that once awful path yet again.

Trying to see past the fog to get a glimpse of anything else from the night before was impossible, too. It only added to a headache.

Deciding to get up and investigate like any other rational person would, you sat up in your spot, hands searching your pockets for your device. It wasn’t on your person, which you certainly found odd, but yet again dismissed it. Maybe you’d tossed it somewhere, maybe you threw it out the window, either way, you didn’t remember. You didn’t bother trying, either. One headache was more than enough, thank you.

Even then, it didn’t keep from your stomach churning.

“This is really weird.” You mused aloud, eyes narrowed in thought, unease roiling in your gut. There was something you were missing, but what you weren’t exactly sure.

Another shiver worked its way up your spine, and you willed yourself to stop, eyes surveying your room to see if you could find a hoodie or something warmer to wear. You dropped to your stomach, torso hanging limply from the bed and eyes searching the darkness until- _aha!_ There was a black hoodie, one that you’d worn a couple days ago, tucked rather gracefully under the bed.

Snatching it from the floor, you gave it a look, considering it clean enough to wear. Sure, it had a couple stains from a takeout, but hey, accidents happened. Besides, the bills were already a pain in the ass. You hauled yourself upright, feeling the blood that had filled your head rush back down to the rest of your body.

After throwing it on and some internal complaining, you got up from your bed. You hadn’t slept with the covers, but it was still your bed and it was comfortable and damn it you were too tired to face today. Sighing through your nose, you reluctantly dragged your feet to the door that separated your room from the sizable living room.

Hand curling around the smooth handle, you pulled the door open, eyes scanning the obscure room before you. It was untouched, with nothing broken like you’d expected since you weren’t exactly the most light-footed of creatures when you were drunk.

The curtains in the living room weren’t drawn, which left you wondering if you had even closed them at all last night.

_Strange…_

Your gaze swept the living room one last time, deeming it okay to enter, before crossing the room towards the blinds. Fortunately, this room wasn’t like your nest back in the other room, since you still had guests ~~not really~~ come over sometimes. You gripped the soft, white fabric, bracing yourself for the blinding light that was soon to follow your actions. Sunny or not, the days were still super bright.

Inhaling deeply, you pulled the curtains apart, letting the light filter inside. Surprisingly, the sun was out today, but it wasn’t anything special. It peaked out from beneath gray clouds, casting its yellow light all across the city and erasing some of its depressing grey.

With a quiet hiss, you rubbed your eyes with your hands, and backed away from the large window. Once you accustomed to the new brightness of the room, you turned away, sucking in a deep, relaxed breath.

The sunlight felt nice on your back, even warming you up the slightest bit. The living room was large, so large that even the sunlight entering the room didn’t chase away some of the darkness that lingered in the corners.

“Oh well,” You shrugged, voice low as you let the tension leave your shoulders, “Still saves me money.”

There was some sort of calmness that hung in the air, filling you with a sense of tranquillity as you breathed in, the familiar smell of your apartment filling your lungs. After a few seconds, you exhaled, shoulders slumping and eyes slipping shut for a moment.

You remained that way for a long moment, before your eyes were blinking open and you were looking around once again. Your eyes landed on the couch, and you immediately felt it trying to lure you in. Sure, you had just woken up, but sitting around for a couple hours watching TV or something didn’t sound unappealing- especially now that the weather was looking just a bit better. Others may have chosen to go outside to enjoy what little light the sun was providing, but you lived your life as a proud couch potato and would rather die than go out there. Well, _death_ was a bit of an exaggeration, but still.

Then, the sense of serenity was very rudely ripped away from you when you noticed the two very large feet dangling off of the side of the couch. And as if on cue, a resounding, drawn-out groan reached your ears. The sound bounced off the walls, snapping you out of your shocked daze.

Even so, you couldn’t move, nor could you speak. You had wanted to yell very indecent things at your intruder, and to throw punches and possibly throw a vase or something to keep them distracted, but your feet were glued to the carpeted floor.

You swallowed thickly, hearing another lengthy groan leave the throat of what you could now safely say was a man. You paused, eyebrows furrowing in confusion despite the alarming situation. You hadn’t- you couldn’t have hooked up with anyone, right? This wasn’t that, right?

Just then, everything from the night before decided to flood back, and the pain in your head increased tenfold. You remembered the man in the alleyway, the cops, the medics, the questions, but not their faces. You remembered the run back to your car, and then this _asshole,_ the one that had decided to take refuge in the back of your car.

Your heart skipped a beat, and then it was thumping loudly against your ribcage. So loud, you could hardly hear yourself think. There wasn’t a lot going through your head though, only a string of panicked thoughts that consisted of ‘ _what in the hell is he doing here?!’_ and _‘what the hell do I do?!’_.

You were so lost in thought that you barely registered the words “Oi, close the blinds…” being called out to you sleepily.

Just then, the man rose from his laid-back position on the couch, eyes half-lidded tiredly as his head turned to look at you. The drowsiness quickly drained from his face as realization seemed to slap him in the face as well, before he was quickly scrambling off the couch and rushing to the windows. Seeing him approaching, you immediately retreated, your feet feeling more like weights. Hands clenching into fists, you watched as he peered out into the grey city for a couple seconds. Red crescent moons marked your palms, your nails digging and changing in pressure as you debated _just what the fuck this guy was doing, in front of you._

You stood there, eyes wide and simply watching as he forced the curtains to fall shut again, the darkness engulfing the room once more. The sharp sound of the curtains being dragged along had you shaking your head and opening your mouth to speak.

Before you could try to get any words out, though, he hissed, “What did you think you were doing?!”

His words made you pause, mouth agape as you gazed into each other’s eyes. There was no reply from your part, your mind having gone blank as a sheet of paper at what he had said.

Had he just yelled at you for opening the blinds?

When he was the one in _your_ apartment?

Oh hell no.

“What the hell do you mean?” You started, feeling that familiar bubble of rage inside you ready to burst. “‘What did I think I was doing’?! What are _you_ doing in my goddamn apartment?!” You yelled furiously, ignoring the fact that you were the one in danger and not him. You weren’t about to sit around and let him meander about, though. Instead, you rushed forward, placing your hands on his _very bare_ chest and shoving him back roughly before grabbing a vase on a nearby table, holding it defensively. It'd been a gift from a distant family member that you had little to no memory of, so you didn't feel too bad about using it as a means of defending yourself.

He was taken aback by your response, eyes going wide as he stumbled back. Other than that, no reply.

“Well?!” You pressed impatiently, eyes blazing as you took a step closer to him. Truly, you should’ve considered calling the cops, but with how angry you were now, you weren’t really thinking clearly. Plus, your phone was nowhere in sight. Seeing your new weapon, he cautiously put more distance between the two of you, and that’s when you saw your phone peeking out of his pocket.

So the fucker had not only decided to sleep on your couch, he had also taken your damn phone.

Great bouncing icebergs, why in the actual hell was your life taking this turn?

The man struggled to explain, hands held up defensively as he took another step back, “Okay, listen, I can explain if you just put the vase down.” He tried, voice reduced to something softer as if he was dealing with a wild animal. He wasn’t afraid, not one bit, but after the beating from that stupid ice scraper, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to receive that sort of punishment again.

It took another ten tense seconds before you actually debated whether you should whack him upside the head with the object in your hands or if you should just drop it and strangle him.

When you didn’t drop your defensive stance, he tried elaborating, “You fainted.” He began slowly, taking another step away. “And I brought you to your room.”

“Yeah, no shit.” You retorted, fighting to keep your voice from wavering, “Did you do anything to me.” You interrogated him, already fearing the worst.

His face twisted into something along the lines of disgust and disbelief, “No! Why would you- I’m not that kind of person!” He hissed, shocked, and you felt a bit calmer at his words. Your hands lowered slightly, before you dropped them fully, putting the vase aside. It wasn’t like you actually trusted him, no, you were still wary, but for now, you could forgive him.

Dragging a hand down your face, you sighed in exasperation. This man could’ve easily killed you or done anything to you while you were out cold, but he hadn’t. Or at least you hoped he hadn’t. You were taking his word for it.

“…so you’re not going to beat me up…?” He inquired hesitantly at one point, breaking the silence, and when you shook your head no, he visibly relaxed. “Good, because I already have quite a few bruises from when you hit me with that damn ice scraper." He added, irritated as he stared pointedly at a bruise on his arm and another one on his wrist.

You gave him a look, “I’m not sorry about that. You were the one that decided to jump in my car.” You pointed out flatly, crossing your arms over your chest. The _nerve of some people._

“…you were the one that left it unlocked, and besides, I needed to get away somehow…” He murmured mostly to himself. You’d heard him though, which prompted you to pause, eyes narrowing dangerously again.

“Wait, get away? From who?” You asked carefully, eyebrows furrowing.

“That,” He responded, “Does not concern you.” He finished with a wink before he was flopping back on the couch tiredly.

His actions left you puzzled and at a loss for words. What was he doing? Why wasn’t he leaving? You stood there, dumbfounded.

“You’re not safe.” He said, fixing the orange hat on his head as if reading your mind.

“What do you mean ‘I’m not safe’?” You queried, though your voice had lost its aggressive edge, instead replaced with both a hint of fear and curiosity. He glanced up at you, his face being the only thing visible from the side of the couch.

“The man that attacked me, he was part of a gang.” He explained slowly, eyes blinking wearily. _Yeah, you’d figured that much out, thank you very much._ Even so, your heart was beating fast again, and when you didn’t respond, he continued. “I don’t know if they’re still looking for me, so that’s why I kept the blinds shut. Vantage points, you know.” He added with a wave of his hand, grey eyes staring up at you owlishly.

You couldn’t comprehend what was happening. He fell silent, knowing that you’d need a minute or two to process what he had just said.

You just couldn’t have a normal, relaxing day. No, you had to deal with a strange man in your living room, sitting on your couch as if he owned the place and the possibility of having some crazy knocking at your door.

Then, you pinched yourself, leaving the man to look at you, puzzled. You weren’t paying attention to him anymore, though.

This had to be a nightmare.

When the pain became too intense, you released the skin of your arm, hissing and almost whining. This just couldn’t be real. There was no way you weren’t dreaming. You were only a broke student, trying to make it through life. You weren’t ready for this. You didn’t want this.

“So...” You began, voice trembling as you dragged your feet to another couch. “You’re saying that there is a very high chance that there are people after me now.” You summarized, still not believing anything.

When he nodded, you breathed a sigh.

It was a long time before you spoke. You were staring at the floor as if the answers were scribbled all over it in some purple glittery marker.

“So, now what?” You inquired, eyes snapping to his lounging form, “I can’t leave my apartment anymore? Am I gonna have to stay cooped up in here forever? I have a life, you know.”

His cast his gaze downward, almost like he was _sorry_ , and then he was looking up at you again, “Everything should be fine in two days, at most.” He was lying to you, you both knew, but if it meant he was gone after two days, then everything was good with you. You nodded.

“Fine,” You agreed reluctantly before everything went back to the tense and awkward silence once more. The both of you stared into each other’s eyes. The silver pools that met your own were bright, wide. An interesting color, indeed..

Then, he was introducing himself, “The name’s Ace, by the way, nice to meet you.”

His politeness had you blinking rapidly at him, before sighing again, glad but also not glad at the fact that you didn’t have to call him orange hat anymore. This just meant that you were digging yourself a deeper grave. You didn’t give him your name, though, which he didn’t seem to mind.

The sound of your stomach gurgling shook you out of your thoughts, and you sent him a wary glance, making your way to the kitchen on heavy feet. There was the sound of something ruffling, and then heavy footsteps as he followed you.

You turned at an incredible speed, looking him up and down before asking, “Can I help you?”

He flashed you a sheepish smile, not like the one he sent you back at the bar. This one was something else.

“Got any food?”

(x)

He had to give it to you.

The fact that you weren’t afraid (or at least it didn’t look like you were) of him like most usually were piqued his interest, even if you were holding a vase threateningly, ready to beat him up if you needed to. He was, in all honesty, very amused. Well, amused until he remembered the bruises that varied in color decorating his skin that is. Then he was just hoping you didn’t attack him again.

When you asked him if he had done anything to you, he felt disgusted. Not at you, but at the fact that things like _that_ did happen in the real world and that not everyone kept their hands to themselves. And he was more than a little shocked. Even so, he couldn’t blame you.

And when you finally put the vase aside, he relaxed, flopping back down on the couch. It was a nice couch, nicer than the one he had back at home, and the second that he was settled once more, he felt the exhaustion sweep over him like a wave. Sure, he was at a stranger’s house, and both parties should be cautious, suspicious of one another, but right now he couldn’t bring himself to care all that much.

And then your stomach rumbled.

It’d been a funny noise, and he’d felt the urge to laugh, but then he realized that he too was hungry. He hadn’t eaten anything since he left home, and that’d been… well, a day. The two of you stared at each other, right after he’d followed you to the kitchen, in awkward silence.

“Got any food?”

Seemed silly, that question, but he hoped you knew what he meant.

“…”

He didn’t know what else to say, and neither did you, so, with one last look, you nodded and motioned him to follow you. Ace smiled to himself, grabbing his hat from where it was hanging loosely around his neck from the rope before placing it on the top of his head, black locks of hair peeking out from underneath.

The kitchen was nothing too special, which he understood, seeing as you were obviously a student and you had to save up for more important things. There was no doorway separating the kitchen from the living room, making it a large space. The counter was a simple soapstone surface that covered most of the kitchen, coloured a simple white. It had a faucet in the centre, and then there was a leaded window that allowed him to see outside. There were no curtains on this window, which did worry him slightly. He made no further comments, though, knowing that you probably didn’t want to hear about the possible chance of being shot ~~even though it was probably an important piece of information. But hey, it was that or a beating with a vase~~. You already looked distressed enough. The décor was also fairly simple: two stools sitting on the outside of the counter, wooden cupboards and cabinets, and a stove with a fridge to the right of it. If you separated it from the actual living room, it was fairly small.

You hovered awkwardly in the center of the kitchen for a moment or two, hand pressed to your chin in thought before you made a decision. Then, you set to work wordlessly, shoulders taut as you moved about with practiced ease. You pulled out eggs from the fridge, and a pack of bacon, placing it on the counter before grabbing a pan from a drawer placed directly underneath the oven for easier access.

Ace zoned out after that, vaguely listening to you move about the kitchen while keeping an eye on the window. The buildings outside were grey, their windows spotless and shining under the pale light of the sun, much like the rest of the gloomy city. After a brief study of the outside, his gaze dropped to his wounded knuckles. He’d done his best to clean them while you were out in your bedroom, heading to your bathroom to wash them with cold water. He didn’t know whether he should grab a towel since most of them were a simple white cloth, or wipe his hands on his trousers, but seeing as how some of the wounds had reopened, he’d gone with the towel. Ace was going to have a bit of trouble explaining that, but for the most part, he expected you to understand.

He didn’t realize you had finished cooking until the clatter of a plate and cutlery being placed in front of him gingerly reached his ears. Snapping back to reality, he blinked at the food in front of him, two eggs and four slices of crispy bacon, before his eyes met your own. He sent you a bright, grateful smile.

“Thank you.” He said sincerely, watching nod once. Oddly enough, the air wasn’t as tense as it had been a moment ago. You scurried away then, rushing to your room on your tip toes as you ran.

Just as he picked up the fork, his phone buzzed, and he instinctively patted his right front pocket, fishing it out. He blinked, once, before he realized that this device was not his, but yours.

_Gotta return that…_

The only reason he’d taken it was one, because it ended up falling out of your front pocket while he trudged through your living room with you in his arms, and two because he didn’t want you calling the authorities on him. He stared at it for a couple seconds, placing it on the counter face down once the buzzing of his own phone returned once more.

He pulled it out, pressing the on button and reading the notifications displayed in front of him.

**_Pineapple-Head 9:32AM_ **

_Ace. Where are you._

_You better answer me._

**_Fire-Boy 9:33AM_ **

_good morning to you too, Marco. I’m in an apartment._

He hesitated, his thumb hovering uncertainly over the send button. He didn’t know what else to say, or how else to explain it. He pressed send anyways, waiting for his reply.

**_Pineapple-Head 9:34AM_ **

_Ace, you said you’d be back soon. Why are you in an apartment?_

Ace could sense the exhaustion behind the words. Nerves frayed, Ace typed out a reply.

**_Fire-Boy 9:35AM_ **

_The car I was in? The driver came back and well, I couldn’t get out in time- or at all, really._ _She drove home and when she popped the trunk she found me._

He could already feel the face-palm that was taking place after he said that.

_Uh… she beat me with an ice scraper, and then another guy somehow found me and I got into a fight. She passed out after that, and I didn’t want to leave her in the middle of a parking lot, so I took her to her apartment and voila. I’m here now._

Ace waited patiently for Marco’s response, knowing that he was probably turning to the old man for advice. Getting innocents involved was not an option in their gang, but sometimes there was no other way around it. Leaving you in that parking lot would’ve meant being snatched up by the wrong people and either be forced to tell them what you knew, which was close to nothing (something that they wouldn’t believe) or with a bullet to the brain. His phone buzzed again.

**_Pineapple-Head 9:38AM_ **

_I’m going over there sometime in the evening. Tell me where to find this place._

He paused. Having more than one person here would not only create more complications, but it would put you in more danger. He didn’t see them benefitting from this situation at all.

**_Fire-Boy 9:39AM_ **

_You can’t, though. They might still be around._

The next reply was instantaneous.

**_Pineapple-Head 9:39AM_ **

_I’ll find a way. Just stay there. And please tell me where to go._

Well, that settles it, he supposed. He couldn’t do much else. After all, in some way or another, this was the old man talking and not Marco. This was just another order.

Sighing, he told him whatever he remembered from the night before. Brief glimpses of signs while running away came back to him, which he forwarded to Marco. The blonde eventually told him he knew where he was, which meant that Ace only had to send the room number. After that was done, they bid their goodbyes, and all Ace had to do now was wait.

(x)

_Okay._

_There’s a man- a criminal, in my home, right now. Eating and acting like there’s nothing wrong with our situation._

“Ugh.” You grunted, grounding your knuckles into your temples. You just- why was this even happening? Since _when_ did you wish for this? You spared your window a wary glance, eyebrows pinched together as you thought long and hard. You could just simply kick this man out and be done with gangs and their wars, but if what he had said was true, there could be other more dangerous people hunting you now. Rubbing your eyes, you pressed your lips together in frustration, teeth worrying your lower lip.

“ ** _Ugh_** _.”_ You were pacing now, narrowly avoiding several items strewn all over the carpeted floor. You carded your fingers through your hair, scratching at the back of your head, your eyes focused on nothing in particular.

You couldn’t keep this guy around, especially if it meant you had to feed him and all that. You weren’t exactly a trained babysitter.

Sucking in a deep breath did little to cool you down, but it helped somewhat.

_Okay, I have to think._

~~~~What could you do about this man? Kicking him out, again, was not an option if you wanted to keep your head in its rightful place. But then, how were you going to go about your day? Were you going to be allowed to leave, or was this stranger- _now named Ace_ going to follow you around like some bodyguard? You doubted it, but if he was so determined to keep a random person safe then there was that small chance.

Life, in general, was unfair.

And you’d also left him unattended in your living room.

Go figure.

You were out of your room in mere seconds, hands out of your hair as you threw the door open and scurried outside. The door’s handle hit the wall with a _BANG,_ and you winced, eyes trained on the man as he craned his neck to look at you, eyebrows raised. How he hadn’t fallen off the chair at the thunderous sound had you wondering if it was even possible to scare him at all

Straightening your spine, you cleared your throat, eyes drifting to the floor as heat rushed to your face. You weren’t one to blush, but at this moment there was little you could do about anything anymore. You heard a quiet chuckle, and then:

“You okay?”

His voice was a low, fruity, and surprisingly pleasant. Shyly, you nodded your head and muttered a ‘yep’ before flopping on the couch, an arm draped over your eyes as you mentally berated yourself for being so careless. Even if you hadn’t all but barrelled out of your bedroom, there was little you could do to this guy. Hell, you could’ve tried opening the door soundlessly, rolling out into the living room with your hands held like some poor excuse of a gun, and you still wouldn't have gotten a reaction, even if you screamed **_‘pew pew’_** his way.

But, was lowering your guard that bad? You sure as hell couldn’t trust him, but you could at least try not embarrassing yourself any further.

No. You had to stay alert. He was keeping you safe, sure, but there was no way you were letting him stay more than two days.

And even if it was a lie, even if there really was no other choice but to live in fear of being assaulted, you were not going to have a criminal here for more than two days. Again, you weren’t anyone’s babysitter.

You pulled your arm from your face, eyes finding _Ace’s_ (saying his name was odd) large, intimidating back. Your eyes roved over his body, the tattoo etched into his skin in a bright purple, and then finally to the purple bruise on his left shoulder.

It took you a moment, but eventually, you remembered. The memories floated around your head in disarray, and you struggled to put them all in a coherent order. You still weren’t exactly aware of what had happened, but putting whatever pieces you had together did help. You hadn’t whacked him on the shoulder; it had been someone else- another man. Who, you didn’t know, and you didn't want to find out.

You also spotted the other less prominent scratches that littered his lower back. It looked like he had been pushed into something rough. Like a wall or something. They were colored an angry red, much like another mark on the side of his neck.

“What happened to you?” **_Shit._** You hadn’t meant for your thoughts to come tumbling out of your mouth. Here you were, being betrayed by your own body when you had _just_ said to yourself that you didn't want to find out.

Ace spun around to look at you, eyes the color of silver landing on your face. He smiled a little.

“You don’t remember?” He returned, eyes sparkling with mirth.

“Oh, I remember.” You said, huffing indignantly. “I meant your...." You motioned to your shoulders and neck, "And your lower back.”

You realized the second the words escaped your mouth that you had practically acknowledged the fact that you’d been checking him out. You fought to keep the blush from making its _lovely_ appearance once again. He noticed the crinkle in your brow, chuckling, and you knew that he knew.

Putting that embarrassing moment aside, he replied, “It’s nothing.” He waved a hand dismissively, trying to shake your concerned gaze off.

You gave him another look as he turned away, pushing yourself into a sitting position before getting to your feet. Silently, you approached him, keeping your eyes trained on the back of his head as you waited for him to turn and pounce on you and kill you. When nothing happened, you craned your neck to get a better look. It made little to no difference, but you caught sight of the bruises on his arms, and the wounds on his knuckles.

“Not a pretty sight, huh?” His voice made you jump and recoil, skin crawling as a shudder slithered up your spine. He made no move to turn back to you, but he did raise his hand so he could take a look, giving you a better view of the damage.

“No.” You agreed, voice hushed, “Do they hurt?” Dumb question, but if you could do anything to at least thank him…

“Not anymore, no.” He wriggled his fingers as proof, joints moving beneath the bloodied skin, but you could still clearly see the swelling.

When he didn’t hear you respond, he raised an eyebrow, silver eyes still on his hands.

Then, “Wait there.” And you were gone. Ace obeyed.

Not a minute later, you reappeared with a clean towel and some soap. You placed the items on the counter, before crossing the kitchen to your freezer and pulling out an ice pack. Then, you turned the faucet at the sink on, let the water soak the towel. He observed you, eyebrow raised as you spun around to face him again.

“It’s not… necessary.” He tried, but by the look in your eyes, he was probably going to get nowhere in trying to convince you.

“You saved me.” You reasoned. “It’s only right if I do this for you. Even if you did climb into my car and put me in danger…” There was an odd edge to your voice, one that made him smile sheepishly. You sighed, grabbing the towel and holding out your hand. He slowly reached out and grasped it, presenting the mess that was his hand. He watched you pause, glance at the soap, before you shook your head a little as if deciding against it.

“So, I’m assuming that you were the one that left a bloody towel in the bathroom…?” You inquired, getting to work. You gently dabbed at his hand, and Ace resisted the urge to pull his hand back, the familiar uncomfortable tingling in his hands slowly resurfacing again. He didn't answer, but his silence said more than enough.

Red tainted the fluffy towel, and when blood began to flow freely, you pressed the towel to the wounds, wiping once or twice to make sure it wouldn’t come back.

Meanwhile, you thought this was the perfect time to ask questions, but where could you start? Oh, wait-

“Who were you after?” You asked, concentrated on his knuckles still. His hand twitched in yours, but otherwise, he didn’t say anything. Looking up from your task, you saw that his face had changed. It had hardened, eyes cast downwards as if he was afraid of meeting your gaze, but you knew that wasn't the case. It looked like he wanted to stand up and leave you there if the slightly hunched shoulders and the twitching of his fingers in your hand implied as much. You entertained the idea of leaving him to deal with his own injuries, but then again, you were doing this because you wanted to say show your gratitude in some way, so...

Eventually, he straightened up, shoulders relaxing and eyes steady. The lack of a sheepish or amused smile was a change in appearance you didn't really want to be seeing. It meant business, and gangs love their 'business'.

“You shouldn’t be asking.” He answered, eyes shining with the intent to keep information hidden and away from prying ears.

“I’m already in danger, aren’t I?” You returned with a shrug, almost as if you were disinterested. You knew that the act you were putting up wasn’t convincing. “...Might as well dig myself a deeper grave.” You added. You sincerely hoped your voice wasn’t giving too much away.

Ace didn’t know what to say. First, you’re threatening him with blazing eyes and a vase in your hands, then you’re quiet as a mouse, and now you’re trying to coax information out of him. Confused and slightly annoyed, he shook his head.

“You don’t want to know.” He said more firmly, wanting the conversation to end, and you gave him another look, thinking back to Morgan. It was only right to be curious, and more than a little cautious.

“You’re after him, right? Morgan?” You tried again; you had to at least gain _some_ information, right?

He didn’t respond.

(x)

He had felt your eyes on him since the very beginning, and from then, he had grown both worried, and smug. He had felt a smirk play about his mouth, but even then he couldn’t help the unease roiling in his stomach. Ace knew you were going to ask. He could feel it, but he wasn’t ready.

He was hoping he didn’t have to answer any questions. After all, it was for your safety.

But again, he really did have to give it to you.

Not only were you probably one of the strangest people he's ever met, now you were trying to sate your curiosity by bombarding him with questions. When you asked about the old man he’d been tracking, he paused, because you knew his name, and that wasn’t good news.

He almost groaned at your question, a little irritated. Ace wasn’t allowed to give away pieces of information like he was handing out pamphlets. In fact, had he done so, he’d probably be killed by either Marco’s or the old man’s hand. He didn’t know which one sounded more terrifying.

The old man had formed this gang for reasons that few people knew, and Ace was one of them. When he had first joined, he only saw men and women that had taken the wrong turns throughout the road that was life and were now looking for a way to either forget or right their wrongs. Maybe pay off a debt or two. And if that meant dangerous, nasty work, as was expected from a gang, then so be it. The old man didn’t care what you did or how you did it, as long as you played by the rules and showed some respect, he was down with whatever you had in mind. He was there to give people a chance.

Whitebeard was also all about family, and strongly believed that it was one of the most important things in a person’s life, so that’s why every man and woman under his reign was called a son or daughter. Surprisingly (or maybe not at all), most people found it extremely difficult to return back to their old lives, choosing to stick to the old man’s side instead. Everyone was bound together by his mark, the one Ace himself wore proudly on his back to ward off any enemies, and it seemed wrong to just let it all go. There were some people that did turn around and go back the way they came, and Whitebeard always saw them off with a proud smile. To him, every person that joins and leaves him will always be family. And that meant staying loyal.

And if that meant getting beat with an ice scraper for the sake of his brothers, then he’d take it. Besides, punishment for betrayal was not something that a person should look forward to. And it was a million times worse than what you'd done.

Eventually, after you cleaned and treated his hands, he pulled them away and stood. He thanked you, turned to the couch and sank into the fluffy cushions. He just had to wait for Marco now. He’d know what to do.

(x)

Attempt numero uno at gathering information: failed. Really, it was no surprise, but you were hoping for a bit more. Fishing around for bits and pieces of it would've helped when you reported him and his compadres to the police, after all.

You'd just have to live with the fact that he was _here,_ right _now_ for a while longer, you supposed.

It was now around 5 PM, and you’d wasted the whole day watching whatever was on the news and scrolling through your phone. You had to study, and work, and focus on many other things, but it was hard when there was a gang member in the sacred place that was your abode. The curtains were still drawn, and you knew that if you even stepped too close to them, he’d be there to keep them shut like they were meant to be. He was observant, you noted, catching him scan the buildings outside for what seemed the 10th time that day. Perhaps he was waiting for something to happen. Perhaps he was waiting for someone. You didn’t know, you didn’t care; not right now. You were too exhausted.

Oh, and the headache from this morning? It hadn’t gone away yet. It was stubborn, persistent, and it seemed to have taken permanent residence in your right temple. You brushed two fingers over it gently in an attempt to soothe it, but it was useless.

You sighed deeply, checking the time on your phone.

Getting the accursed device back had been quite the experience. Annoying, irritating, but an experience nonetheless.

At first, he’d denied your request firmly, believing that you’d somehow call for help. Reasoning with him had been easy enough, though (read: after a good twenty minutes and lots and lots of sighing), since you literally had nowhere to hide in this place and you obviously couldn’t go outside. Making a call would've been one of the stupidest moves, especially since you didn't have what you needed to make an actual, good report. Ace had sent you a suspicious look, but otherwise relented and returned it. He had every right to be suspicious, sure, but didn’t you, too?

Besides, feeling the familiar case of the device in your hands had somewhat quieted your frayed nerves, allowing your figure to lose some of its tension and to sink into the cushions of your second couch. It sat across from the other one, where your impromptu guest slept the hours away peacefully, that ridiculous hat covering his face. His chest rose and fell with each steady breath.

He was a man of sharp edges, with a strong build that shrieked danger at those who dared face him. Underneath that intimidating front, though, there was a much kinder, lost soul. You’d seen it when he thought you weren’t watching (which you constantly were, for obvious reasons); that crinkle in his brow, the faraway look in the grey pools that were his eyes, and how his lips were always pulled into a thin line. He was always lost in thought, mind wandering until either you or something else shook him out of his wonderland.

“…”

In all honesty, now that the shock had worn off and left your bones, you felt… well, you felt tired. These past few weeks had been hectic, and crime was not letting up. What disconcerted you the most was the fact that it was nearing your area at a very frightening speed.

You almost wanted to go out and hunt the gang leaders down to yell whatever curses you knew at them. Maybe knock some sense into the fools with a couple hits with your trusted weapon: the ice scraper. It wasn’t like you would do much though, you thought bitterly, eyes wandering down to his abdomen. There was another more prominent, purplish-blue bruise on his left side. It looked like it hurt.

Somehow, he had avoided taking any blows to the face, which shocked you. You ~~totally~~ safely assumed it was good luck and not the fact that he was probably a trained fighter with plenty more fighting experience and not a damn vase as a weapon.

Just as you were trying to check out his right hand to see the damage and if it had healed at all, there was a knock at your door. Puzzled, you took a look at the time again.

7PM. It was 7 PM. How? It’d been 5 PM like… five minutes ago!

There was another series of knocks, and you slowly sat up, eyes slowly travelling to the door. In that same moment, your guest was up and standing, trudging to the door while correcting his hat. You followed him, eyebrows pinched together as you clung to the wall, choosing it as a support. Who the hell could it be, at this hour?

Ace too was looking at his phone, and with a nod, he scurried to the door.

“Hey, woah, what are you doing?” You practically hissed, your eyes narrowed as you stared him down. You sincerely hoped your look would drive him away from your door. After all, you didn't need any more surprises, thank you. “Don’t open that door. We don’t know who it is.” You continued, raising a hand so you could stop him but also not quite placing it on his shoulder. He sent you a glance.

“Yeah we do.” He said before he paused. “Well… I do, anyway.” Grinning, he opened the door while you lingered behind, eyes wide as you watched the door creak open. The first thing you saw was the blond hair, and then his face. You opened your mouth, about to speak, before Ace yelled:

“Marco!”

Oh no.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that wraps this thing up. I hope this wasn't too.. uh... messy? I typed a lot of it in one sitting (lower back's killing me lolol), so it might have lots of things that I may have missed. If you do see anything and want to point it out, that would be of great help. Really. Editing is something I am quite... not... uh... good at lol. 
> 
> Thank you again, my dear friends. See you next chapter :)
> 
> [please please please tell this poor author what you thought. seriously. i mean this more than ever. i need to get back to actually writing something that isn't just word vomit like i did here ;O;]
> 
> Edit: Special thanks to all those took the time out of their days to comment. It really means a lot to hear form you all!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys, I don't even know. My family and I been having a tough time lately and I just don't know. I guess I compressed my anger and insults into a ball and cannoned it at this chapter because this is definitely not as... uh... detailed? proffesional? as the other ones. I might take this down to re-write it, or maybe even extend it a little, but just take it away from me for now lol. 
> 
> Also holy hell did I have a tough time with phoenix boy. Go ahead and comment if you see something that feels OOC because I will do everything in my close to non-existent power to fix it. The ending is pretty meh as well, but y'know what? I kind of like it. It shows that I don't have to leave everything in a cliffhanger like I always try to do haha.
> 
> Edit numero unoooo: Thank you all for the comments, support, and for the eighty kudos on this story. It means a lot.

Six weeks ago, if someone told you that you’d be encountering gang members left and right while dealing with studies and a job that involved customers drinking themselves stupid and screaming fucking sea shanties at the top of their lungs, you would have stared them down with the biggest ’are you serious’ look into next Sunday.

But now? Now you weren’t so sure. Especially since two of the most intimidating men you had ever had the fortune of meeting were… in front of you. And one of them is scolding the other like he’s a child who’s stolen their mother’s credit card and used it to scrape grime off the counter. The blond, who you’d learned is Marco, scowled at Ace, who is rubbing his head sheepishly while simultaneously trying to hide his face underneath the rim of his hat.

To summarize, it was one of the strangest things you’d ever seen (nothing could beat the acapella version of ’Lowlands’ that sounded like 3 dogs trying to sing after inhaling sulfur hexafluoride). It became even weirder when the blond’s eyes focus on you, trying to figure what the bloody hell he should do with you. You couldn’t blame him, really. You didn’t know whether you wanted to grab that vase and hit them or knock yourself out with it.

“I’m Marco.” He says a minute later, extending a hand for you to shake, but not before sending Ace a look that has him grinning, embarrassment clear on his face.

You glance down at the limb in front of you, jaw locked and eyebrows raised. Then, you meet his eyes again, finishing the gesture slowly. Your grip on his hand is weak and unsure, and after pulling away, you gather the courage to talk.

“(name).”

He nodded, eyes slipping shut for a moment, then turned back to the man in the background, expression unreadable. You step back, eyes bouncing between the two, and retreat into your living room without another word. Taking this as the A-OK, the two men follow you after exchanging a few words, plopping down on the couch together. Wanting to sit down but also needing to avoid the awkward situation, you entertain the idea of slinking back into your room and wave these two weirdo’s goodbye.

I wouldn’t make it one step… You think, eying the blond. It didn’t look like he’s here to hurt you, though… Sighing, you allow your shoulders to sag, the tension leaving your body. Time to get this over with.

“So…” You began, the word trailing off into a whisper. Your heart was thundering, so much you were sure your ribcage would start bruising soon. The ugly thing known as exhaustion began rearing its ugly head when Marco continued to gaze at you with that indecipherable look on his face. “Nice weather today, right?”

That was unnecessary on so many levels, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care at all right now. Now that you were past the whole ’fearing for your life’ thing, you were pretty much drained and didn’t know what else to say.

And to make matters even worse, thunder rumbles in the distance, hinting at another storm that was to take place soon.

Okay, so maybe you weren’t a social butterfly. Maybe you didn’t know how to deal with, not just one, but two gang members in front of you. Big deal.

Marco, despite the situation you three were currently in, sent you a smile, catching onto what you were trying to do.

“Could be worse.” He admits, eyes leaving you to look outside and returning when he sees that the curtains are hiding you three from the outside world. You notice the nod he sends the younger man, who smiles under his hat.

You shrug, not knowing what else to say. Luckily for you, Marco keeps talking.

“We’re not going to hurt you, (name).” He states, something akin to amusement dancing merrily in his blue eyes. There’s… another something, though, but it fades away, prohibiting you from pinpointing what it is.

Still suspicious, you inhale deeply, sauntering over to the other couch and sitting down stiffly. Ace, surprisingly, was still silent and had not said a word since the blond had arrived for a reason unknown to you. You had deduced from previous events that he was one to say whatever popped into his head, so seeing this was a little odd.

You’re a bit put off by the friendliness, and by whatever it was you’d seen in Marco’s eyes.

Perhaps they were trying to sugar-coat the fact you were on the wanted list of whatever crazy rivals these people had?

Man, if you had the money, you would have moved to Antarctica to live with the penguins. Screw the city and everyone in it. Dying because you found some guy camping in the trunk of your car is not part of normal life.

“No? And who is?” You demand, feeling a pang of fear. The irritated tone of your voice that managed to worm its way into your sentence is not a good way to go, but you keep going. This was your life on the line, damn it, and you still had a lot planned for the future. And it totally wasn’t that trip to visit the seventeen species of flightless birds that lived in a deserted ice kingdom. “You’re obviously not here to talk about the damn weather.” Even if I was the one to start up that conversation.

Marco and Ace share a look, both inhaling deeply as they faced you again.

“We’re not here for that, no.” Marco agrees quietly, voice turning serious as he meets your slightly terrified gaze. The brave front you had put on in a small, angry spark begins to wane, and now you have reduced yourself to a nervous wreck. Again.

 _This is what I needed._ You think bitterly, (eye colour) eyes darting from Marco to Ace and back. _The universe couldn’t have picked anyone else. No, it just had to shove me head first into a situation like this. I swear to God, the second I have enough money, I’m flying myself to The Bahamas._

If they noticed the literal crisis you were close to having, they refrained from making comments.

Taking a deep breath, Marco continued speaking, halting your train of thought. “So, as obvious as it is, we’re not your typical visitors.” Nooo shit. “I was sent here to inform you that, seeing as you haven’t hurt Ace…” He paused, sending the younger man a glance to assess his injuries, “…much, the Whitebeard gang is willing to overlook what’s happened if you’re willing to do the same.”

So that meant no questions about the corpse you found chilling, no Morgan (was he even alive anymore?), or the guy that had tried to kill you both in the parking lot.

Well, as much as you appreciated the thought of not having random people knocking on your door, these guys were still criminals, and as a law-abiding citizen, it was your duty to report them and get them thrown in a cell.

But yet again, Ace had gotten you home safe. He could’ve left you to die in that parking lot, and yet he didn’t. Out of kindness or because he just didn’t know what to do with an unconscious girl, you didn’t know.

Either way, you knew you couldn’t get out of this without getting into trouble. It was either report them and have a mini army of grade A assholes come after you, or have the police arrest you for assisting a criminal. If you were careful, though, the chance of the police finding out could be slim but… But, no! You couldn’t help these people! Would they even believe that you were innocent? You’d been housing one of the worst, for God’s sakes!

What to do…

The silence stretched on, thick with tension. You noticed the signs of impatience in Ace, and Marco’s eyes started appearing less friendly with each second. They darkened after a full minute, shoulders drawn.

Okay, so you didn’t have a choice. Not unless you wanted to experience what they did to people first hand.

Rather hesitantly, you said:

“Okay, sure, fine. That’s cool with me.” Not really. But you wanted to live to the age of 45.

Ace’s shoulders sagged a little at your response, obviously relieved that you had agreed to cooperate. You’d seen how tense he was after you’d questioned him and his intentions.

And just like that, Marco’s smile returned, eyes shining once more. He nodded at your response, appearing much more relaxed as well. “Then I think that concludes my business here.” He stated, standing up slowly as Ace looked on, eyebrow raised.

“Wait, really? You’re just going to leave me here?” He asked incredulously, his eyes still on the blond as he sauntered back to the entrance to your apartment. Marco halted, sparing the raven-haired man a glance before he was shrugging and smiling. Then he was walking again, leaving Ace to sigh with a roll of his eyes. Meanwhile, you were quiet, watching the two interact. You weren’t sure if you had actually made the correct decision in keeping everything you knew about these two to yourself, but you had to admit that the way they interacted made it a tad worth it. Just a little bit. Maybe.

When the door finally clicked shut, Ace and you both shared a silence that wasn’t awkward or tense. It was a silence that allowed the both of you to collect your thoughts, and, well, it allowed you to study him (in a non-creepy way). He was currently looking back at where the door is, eyebrows knitted together before he sighed and turned back to look at you. Blinking away, you shrugged to let him know that you had no idea what to really say or do, and he sighed again.

“Well, I guess I’m staying.” 

(x)

And stay he did.

Currently, you two were eating breakfast- well, you were drinking a cup of tea since you weren’t all that hungry, while he was wolfing down a plate of bacon and scrambled eggs greedily.

Ace hadn’t made any mentions of leaving yet, which left you at a loss for what to do. You wanted to go and buy food so you could survive the week, but leaving him alone, in your apartment, didn’t seem like the most appealing idea. The guy could easily rob you if he wanted.

And speaking of leaving, would he allow that much? It had taken quite a bit of coaxing and patience to get your phone back, and that somebody had assigned him as your personal bodyguard made it unlikely that he would let you go out. You felt like a child.

Oh well. You thought, eyes traveling down to his healing hands. They were recovering at a speed that astonished you. The swelling was all but gone, and the cuts that littered his hands were also closing up nicely. Had cleaning them been necessary?

You throw his face a furtive glance over the rim of your mug, the warm beverage relaxing you so much that you wanted to sleep for eternity. He devoured the food in the time you took to scrutinize him… Now, he texted who you assumed was Marco or that other guy with the pompadour, judging by the way his thumbs danced across the screen.

Placing your mug in the sink, you stop for a second to stare out the window. The storm yesterday had been severe, with the wind howling noisily and the deafening bursts of thunder making windows rattle. Rain had been light, surprisingly, only threatening to get worse once or twice but never really following through. Now, you could see people below ambling along the sidewalk, enjoying the sun that was finally shining through the grey. It wasn’t all that cloudy today, which was a pleasant and very refreshing change.

Seeing the people outside had you narrowing your eyes at each speck of a person suspiciously. Here, you were safe, you were at home, but out there was a whole new story, especially now that you had gang members meandering about. How many people out there are criminals, and how many are innocents?

Stepping away, you would have averted your attention to something else if it weren’t for the thing- that being a figure- that caught your eye. It wasn’t much different from anyone else, but the size of the person and their… whole appearance, in general, was just putting you off.

Especially since they were leaning against the wall of the building across from yours, staring back at _you_. At least, that’s what it looked like they were doing.

Denial clogged your sense of danger. It was just another person. Another person just leaning against the wall.

The thought shrivelled up and withered when they raised a hand, waving to you.

Reeling back with a racing heart, you put some distance between you and the old sink, body stiff and ready to turn tail and run. That’s when the dam cracked and all your fears spilled.

Were they- were they mocking you? What the fu- How long had they been there? Were they coming up?

Just... _What the actual fuck?_

“You okay?” A voice, Ace’s voice, his voice, piped in. It wasn’t some murderer, it was just him. Your head snapped to the side, breath caught in your lungs as you stare at him before relaxing slightly and straightening up.

Clearing your throat, you replied, “No. I’m fine. Everything’s fine.” _No, it isn’t._ But you weren’t really in the mood to have him acting all super secret agent again by checking the windows every fifteen minutes and keeping a watchful eye on you every time you happened to pass by. You had enough of _that_ back at work when they had first waltzed in to disrupt you and your life. It seemed to be teetering on the edge of ultimate chaos and action movie drama now.

Ace continued to stare at you like you had weirdo written on your forehead but ultimately decided not to probe any further. Releasing a sigh you’d been holding in, you cautiously edged closer to your previous spot, craning your neck to look outside again.

They were gone.

Now, well aware of that anger in a situation like yours was the dumbest, most ridiculous thing you could ever feel… but come the fuck on. If they were going to frighten you, they could’ve done something that wasn’t so overused. This wasn’t the Slenderman game.

Sighing again, you retreated into your living room, flopping down on the couch tiredly.

Your body was telling you to get up and do something productive, but your mind had better plans, and soon, you were off to dreamland.

(x)

When you awoke, you made the weirdest pig-like noise that sounded between a snort and a gasp as you sat up. That had made you pause for a good long minute, a hand placed to your throat as you questioned just what you’d been dreaming about. Then, you noticed the absence of sound in your kitchen.

“Ace?” You called, eyebrow raised as you scanned the area for the orange hat. Upon not spotting the man, you stood, beginning your search around your apartment. You were certain that he was not in your room since you had made it clear as day that if he so much as put a toe in there that you’d have his head. Choosing to check the bathroom, you pushed the wooden door open, only to enter an empty room. So he wasn’t in your kitchen, bathroom, or living room.

Then…

…

He was gone.

Eyebrows furrowed, you pulled your phone out of your hoodie pocket to take a look at the time. It was 3 PM, meaning your nap had lasted more than five hours.

No wonder you felt so refreshed.

Shaking your head, you banish those thoughts and instead focus on looking around again. He must’ve left something, at least, to tell you that he wasn’t dead and had just gone to wherever the cool kids go.

Opting to search your kitchen, you start there, eyes scanning the counter two times before finally noticing the note that rested near the clean plate that you had used to serve him breakfast. The paper was a blue sticky note from the bunch you had bought not too long ago. You had thought about using it for reminders of important events, but since nothing ever really happened, it had been sitting there unused for a long while.

Well, at least he found a use for it.

Snatching it from the counter, you take in the simple writing that had been scribbled on it. The first thing you notice is the phone number at the top, and then you see the words underneath.

 _Thank you for the food!_ It said, and you couldn’t help but smile at the silly and yet strangely adorable message. Out of all the things he could’ve written, he wrote about that.

You had to admit that it was kind of cute.

But, why the phone number?

Smile falling, you look at the phone number again and take note of the words right beside it.

 _For emergencies._  Huh. You supposed that was pretty neat. Now you have a gang member friend that’s willing to come help you if necessary. That was sure to make life a lot more interesting.

Placing it back down on the smooth white surface, you punch your passcode into your phone before tapping on the ’phone’ app and entering his number. You thought about sending him a message just to make you hadn’t been tricked, but… never mind. You were going to do just that.

Opening the messaging app, you tap on your most recent contact and begin typing away.

_**XXX-XXX-XXXX 3:23PM** _

_Ace?_

And then you were waiting for a response, surfing through several social media apps as you dragged your feet to your couch. Plopping down with an exhale, you debated whether you should check the news or get some work done before the familiar buzz of your phone was distracting you again.

Standing up, you hurried to your bedroom to grab a few books and notes before re-entering your living room, where you picked up your phone and checked the notification. The number, which was currently the name for the new contact, showed up, a message underneath.

_(name)?_

So it was him! Thank God. You would’ve had a hard time if it had been a stranger.

_**XXX-XXX-XXXX 3:26PM** _

_Yeah, it’s me._

You finished typing, sending the message before hastily changing the name to something that wasn’t a series of numbers.

_**Ace 3:27PM** _

_oh, neat_

Your thumbs moved to reply, but, unsure of what to say, they did this awkward tango above the keys that had you sighing in frustration. You had to say something, damn it! Before you could send whatever excuse of a message you had, though, another message appeared and awaited you.

_**Ace 3:28PM** _

_Listen, I wanted to apologize for everything that’s happened. I know you’re freaked out about this whole thing, especially me hiding in your car and all that, but that’s why I gave you my number. Feel free to text me if something comes up._

Your eyebrows arched in surprise, thumbs hovering over the screen for a second or two before you were replying, much more confident now. It was nice to know that you weren’t the only one worrying themselves sick.

_**XXX-XXX-XXXX 3:29PM** _

_It’s fine, I guess._

_I could use the excitement in my life, either way, so don’t feel too bad._

_**Ace 3:31PM** _

_Haha, alright._

_I should probably go now, though. Pops needs me._

You replied fairly quickly with a simple ’Okay. See ya’, and then that was the end of that. You had wanted to ask who he was talking about, but then again, you were meant to be turning a blind eye to whatever they were up to so… maybe not.

You were… well, you weren’t sure. Somehow, you were happy to have had your dose of socializing, but that wasn’t all. You now had the number of a gang member (just how many times were you going to mention that?), and yet, you weren’t as spooked as you had been the first time they had rolled around. Perhaps you were turning into one of those people that just didn’t panic anymore, like that tornado guy.

Sighing quietly, you turn to the books and notes besides you, about to grab them before spotting something out of the corner of your eye.

…

Okay, so maybe you were still prone to cheap jumpscares.

There was a gasp, the soft thunk of your phone hitting the floor and then…

“Son of a motherfuck!” You screeched, appalled, and scrambled off the couch before the spider could jump on your face and kill you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay but that ending? a spooder?  
> This is also quite a bit shorter than the other ones, which I'm sorry for.  
> Ah well, I'll work extra hard on the next chapter. Don't worry.
> 
> Also extra hella loud shoutout to everyone that commented on the last chapter after I begged you guys to. I treasure every single comment.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grocery shopping takes a horrendous turn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who it is, people? it me. The silly person that hasn't added a new chapter to this since freaking August. Ahaha.... well, let me get to the point because I have so much I want to say and not a lot of room.
> 
> This chapter is a monster, both in length and (probably) in language. It is 17 pages in Word, I think, so please take your time when reading. It might be moving a little slow, or maybe I've pushed the pedal through the floorboard, and if that's the case I would like you all to tell me. In the end, I tried my best and will continue to do so until this is finished. There might be words with -these- -things- around them, but that was just me trying to put emphasis on some words. I'll be taking those out and replacing them with italics if I haven't pulled them all out already.
> 
> There isn't much Ace today, but that's fine, because you get to be with Marco Polo instead! And things get pretty serious pretty quickly, so beware of that. In addition, the end of the chapter is just a fuckton of dialogue, and I know that can annoy some of us. But, fear not, I won't be doing this all the time. I just thought it'd be nice to give my fingers and spine a break, as I have been sitting here for the past... 3 hours? Maybe more. I don't know. I kind of winged this entire thing. There is also a new character mentioned, as I realized I can't have the whole story revolving around one conflicting mystery gang. 
> 
> I would also like to thank you all for 120 kudos on this story. It is mind-blowing to see so many people enjoying this pile of word vomit I posted online. I thank you all for all your sweet comments and well wishes, as they have helped me remember that there are good people out there lmao. Again, feedback is very much appreciated, ESPECIALLY comments. Those continue to motivate me and make want to continue writing, so if you could just drop a couple words down there I'd be eternally grateful.
> 
> Thank you so much for everything. I will see you down at the bottom, if you do make it there.
> 
> WARNINGS: There's fighting and a bit of blood, but it's not to the point that it's overwhelming or anything. It's just so you know.
> 
> Alright, read on!

Ace didn’t know why he gave you his phone number. 

While he searched for paper and a pen, he’d constructed a list of reasons as to why it was important he handed you his contact information. And yet, none of them seemed true enough. Sure, danger laid dormant, waiting to erupt and inflict mayhem, but it wasn’t directed at you. If anything, he’d drawn more of it to himself. Marco made sure he was aware of that when they met up. His pledge to carry on being silent was more than enough.

“What happened?” He asked after Ace had settled down. They sat on couches, the main room to one of their many safe houses empty except for them. Ace examined the hand covered in injuries that you’d tended to despite it being pointless. He resisted the urge to flinch. It wasn’t uncommon for Ace to change plans randomly, but he knew Marco wasn’t going to let him go this time.  
  
Clearing his throat, he spoke. “Nothing that I couldn’t handle,” He swallowed down his nerves, eyes roving the room to avoid Marco’s eyes. This was one of the safe houses that they rarely visited out of respect. It had belonged to a family, one that he’d been fortunate enough to befriend and able to rely on. In the times he stayed, a child sprinted up to him, asking about everything he’d accomplished. They were aware of their father’s ’job’, much to the mother’s chagrin. Once, he’d knelt in front of the oldest, a girl of eleven, and promised to recite every event… but only when she was older. Ace could remember the whines that reached his ears, and the brother snickering in the background.  
  
“Ace… That’s not what I meant ~yoi.” Marco stated, an attenuate frown tugging the corners of his lips down.   
  
He knew that. It didn’t mean that he wanted to spend an hour explaining what he saw and did. Ace’s mind wandered back to the past.   
  
The absence of warmth in the house always saddened him. He saw it in the mother’s smile, felt it in the children’s voices, noticed it in the father’s eyes. But the room was frozen, so much that it was like he’d injected ice fractals into his system. Ace was thankful for his absurd resistance to this weather.  
  
Heaving a sigh, he returned, “I lost him. One of his buddies attacked me, and I tried getting answers out of him but that obviously didn’t work out well. Then more came and… well, I ran and ended up in a car… and you know the rest.” Ace hadn’t actually said the traitor’s name, and it wasn’t a requirement, as they both knew what he meant.

The thought of the man had him bristling with rage. He wanted to yank those stupid glasses off his nose and stomp on his face for everything he’d done. 

Marco remained silent for a long time, eyes glued to the coffee table covered with a thin layer of dust. At his lack of a proper response, Ace panicked and tried defending himself. “I swear it was an accident.”  
  
The last phrase cracked Marco’s stoic expression. He laughed, hiding his eyes behind one of his hands, and shook his head. “Ace, how do you accidentally end up in someone’s car?” Marco used two fingers to put stress on ‘accidentally’, eyes trained on the younger man again. Ace, while fumbling with the words, toyed with the string hanging from his hat. There are broad grins on both their faces.  
  
“I don’t know! It was just unlocked!” A nervous smile crossed his features. Laughter meant that his brother wasn’t too angry, and that was good, considering how badly he’d messed up. Relieved, he allowed the tension to flow free from his shoulders, blinking his eyes at the still chuckling blond.  
  
“And so you thought it was a good idea to jump in it and fall asleep?” Marco shot back with an eyebrow raised, amusement dancing in his eyes. Ace placed a hand on his chest, indignant, and sent him a glare.  
  
“That wasn’t on purpose- you know how my narcolepsy is!” He protested, gesturing to himself. Marco shook his head again and exhaled, gaze scrutinizing the floor again. The seriousness of the situation crept back into the blond’s features, and Ace toned down to let his brother speak.  
  
“Don’t let it happen again,” Marco warned, his eyebrows rising again. Ace grunted as an answer, glad to be finished with the conversation. Unsure of what to say next, he sunk back into the cushions, resting his head on the back and closing his eyes. The two men held the cordial silence they shared, both exhausted but too cautious to rest. The rumble of vehicles zipping by pushed their senses to remain alert, knowing that if they so much as tried to sleep, they were both dead. Enemies lurked in every nook, every cranny, and there was no escaping that reality.  
  
Again, it was Marco’s voice that cut the quietude.   
  
“You’re thinking about them again ~yoi.”   
  
“Yeah…”   
  
Marco adjusted his position on the couch, crossing his arms and surveying the decrepit room. “Me too,” The mood had switched to something akin to understanding now, and Ace took note of that immediately. Ace nodded, conscious of the ocean blue eyes that studied his reaction. Marco, who had been awaiting a verbal response, stood and motioned for Ace to follow once he saw that it wasn’t happening. The raven-haired man did as he was told, rising from his spot on the comfortable couch and trailing after the blond. They exited the building, the gelid, morning air greeting them. Marco tightened his shirt, gaze shifting to the man beside him, who stood shirtless in this weather. He grumbled a few words that Ace didn’t miss, and with a laugh, they set off in the direction of Pops’ home.   
  
Unable to resist, he craned his neck to glance at the timeworn building one last time, fiddling with the rim of his hat. It didn’t appear much older than it had a couple of months prior. Aside from the chipping blue and white paint and the grass growing out of control, its aspect had not been altered, not by anyone or the weather.  
  
_Good_. He thought, facing forwards again and trudging away from yet another memory. Ace rubbed his ears, a man’s voice ringing out in his mind, pleading for his children to remain unharmed, to take him instead, and his request going unheard. Gunfire blocked out any other thought, and he thought he picked up the smell of powder. Rubbing his eyes, he untied his mind from the memory and continued to trek through the busy streets with his brother.  
  
“I have to get some errands done. Pop’s orders ~yoi.” Marco explained once they’d put a fair amount of distance between them and the house. Ace fixed his gaze on the man, eyebrow lifting in question at the look on Marco’s face. Said man opened his mouth to elaborate, but waved his hand instead and chose something else to say. “Take care of Pops while I’m away, yeah?” Ace agreed to Marco’s request, thinking about Pops and his speech when word had it that one of their own had fallen.  
  
In the Whitebeard Gang, everyone was either a brother or a sister. They are a pack of wolves that haunt the streets and cause mischief and even then treasure the people and things that have supported them before they chose this path. Everyone was and is important and dear to each other, so when one of them is torn away from the family, they go hunting. It was all they’d done for the past six months.

It was all they’d ever do until they quenched the thirst for revenge, every fallen member avenged. Until they could look back on this and not feel guilt or resentment, but pride, knowing that they did what they thought was right.  
  
Unease and apprehensiveness rolled in Ace’s stomach. So many people gone, and nobody, not even Marco, knew who would be the next victim. Ace wasn’t afraid, no… He was just…  
  
Ace rolled his shoulders, preparing himself for the future, and hoped with all his might that his brothers’ names weren’t next on death’s limitless list.

(x)

It’s a couple days later, and you are still kicking, shockingly. 

“Eggs, milk… bacon… vegetables… What else? Oh..!” _Scribble, scribble,_ “Fruit…”

(Eye colour) eyes scanned the paper, your pen resting on the counter as your eyes wandered over each word. Shrugging, you peeled the paper from its bunch and folded it up, tucking it into your pocket. You bee-lined to your room, already dressed appropriately in a coat to top your outfit off, and located your shoes. Instead of tossing them into some dark corner, you’d made the responsible decision and placed them in front of your closet. Admittedly, it had saved you lots of time. Slipping the footwear on, you ran out of your room and grabbed your keys off the kitchen counter, throwing them in the air before heading out.

At the door, you made sure you had everything and exited. You made quick work of locking the door, rushing to the elevator that would bring you down to the parking lot. It dinged when it reached your floor, and you entered, waiting impatiently for it to head down. Bouncing a little, you checked the time on your phone.

It was still early in the morning, close to 10 AM, and you were thankful that classes had cancelled today. Why? You weren’t too keen on finding out, but it enlivened you all the same. Usually, when teachers called and declared that class wouldn’t take place, it angered you slightly. You were paying for these classes after all, and it wasn’t like the path you’d picked would magically get any cheaper any time soon. But today, you had numerous things you wanted to get out of the way, so if anything, the sudden change in schedule worked in your favour.

Thinking about school placed a small frown on your face. It wasn’t like you didn’t enjoy forensics—you loved it, in fact— it was just the homework was exceptionally exhausting. Your mind replayed some of the lessons, and with that train of thought, came the dead man you’d stumbled upon in the alleyway. Cringing, you rearranged your coat and walked out of the elevator when it arrived at the parking lot. Clearly not your most professional moment, especially since you were studying to become a forensic investigator. But, pictures and case articles were different from the real thing, so could you really blame yourself for your reaction?

And besides, you’d gotten out of there alive and extremely lucky. Had there been anyone around, you woul've been in massive trouble. You would've been dead in a matter of seconds after the discovery. Not only that but, had that corpse been there for more than 24 hours, the putrid stench would have been unbearable. It remained glued to everything you owned for the longest time, and it was all you could smell for days.

Or so you’d been told. You didn’t want to find out.

Pulling out your car keys from your coat pocket, you pressed the button that unlocked the vehicle and watched as lights illuminated the obscured place. The same smell entered your nostrils. Entering this place threw you off, especially after what transpired last time, but you didn’t let it shake you too much. You had grocery shopping to do and damn it, you were going to get it done. Not even a stupid gang-member (read: Ace) was preventing you from completing your tasks today.

Crossing the space, you sauntered to your car and threw the door open. Settling down inside, you push the key in its rightful place, close and lock the door, and pull out of your spot. Turning, you drove into the road and began formulating a plan of action. The store was big, so it would take no less than half an hour to gather the items that you needed, with the things that you hadn’t bothered to write down included. Inhaling deeply, you made a turn to the left and drove on, turning on the radio so you could relax to music.

Bobbing your head, you sang along to whatever tune played, mumbling when you didn’t know the words. You know Ally would’ve gotten on your case if she saw you like this, being the music lover that she is. She had a new song blaring in her playlist each week, no matter what genre.  _Poor girl,_ you think, remembering how devastated she was after hearing the news of her boyfriend. Your friend had requested to come over to your place the second it happened, tears and the need to sob chopping up her words. Like the good person you were, you prepared the apartment, grabbing junk food, pillows, blankets, and a cheap movie to watch so she could forget.

Ally had changed since. A bit reserved, you noticed, but didn’t mind either way. You didn’t have any first-hand experience in relationships, but you knew that it sucked to have someone break up with you and provide no explanation.

“Hashtag relatableee…” You mumbled as you halted at a stop light, laughing at your lack of knowledge. Romance wasn’t for you. Too awkward, you thought.

When the light flipped to green, you sped up a little, your goal swiftly coming into view. The parking lot wasn’t too full, thankfully, and if you hurry, you could make it out before people flooded the market. Bonus, it wasn’t covered by some ceiling.

Once in the lot, you rumble down each neat aisle, scurrying to find a good spot that wasn’t that far away from the entrance. Scoping out a decent place, you fix your attention there, speeding up slightly. That’s when you spot the dark red SUV that was heading towards the same place. Tension seeping into your shoulders, you glare daggers, swords, and whatever other medieval weapons you can think of at the offending vehicle. You add weight on the pedal, your car roaring to life and bringing you closer much faster. And, just as they make to turn, you intervene.

“Nuh-uh, sir, this spot is mine.” You declare triumphantly, hands tightening on the wheel as you cut the other driver off and plant your car in _your_ spot.

Expecting a tantrum from the other guy, you slide down in your seat, using your hood to hide your face as you tug your key from its place and make sure the car is, indeed, locked.

Surprisingly, no one comes to knock on your window. Instead, the SUV slowly corrects itself, and parks in a spot across yours, too damn close for comfort.

“Shit.” You exclaim when the door to the other vehicle opens, and you yank your hood up and over your face. Keeping your head down, you listen to the crunching footsteps of the person as they walk away, leaving you on your own. Relieved laughter rocks your stature, and with a grin, you straighten up and open the door. Hopping out, you survey the surrounding area, hood still up, and see… nothing. No one screams at you and nobody waits to sneak up on you and batter you with words. Excellent.

Stuffing your keys in their designated pocket, you traverse the short distance to the store. Hopefully, you wouldn’t need a cart. Lugging those things up and down the aisles pained your wrists, and if you could avoid using one, the better.

The doors open with a flourish, and the heat beckons you to enter, and you do. Unzipping your coat and freeing yourself from its grip, you look at all the people in the story, wondering who the driver you’d probably peeved could be. When you saw no possible matches, you proceeded, grabbing one of those plastic baskets. You tuck your coat in the crook of your arm as you stuff one hand in your hoodie pocket.

Now that you were here, you could focus on what you required to survive the next week. Fishing out your list, your eyes read the words you’d printed before, refreshing your memory. You put the paper away and continue walking; sparing each person you pass a sidelong glance. It’s not like you’re suspicious but… okay, you totally are. You remain unashamed, though.

You avoid large masses of people, navigating the store and trudging through the aisles that wouldn’t distract you from your task. Swinging the basket back and forth, you make it to the vegetable aisle. The products here don’t catch your attention as much as the candy aisle you grudgingly walk by, but you know that anything is better than that chocolate. Your fingers twitch at the thought of getting your hands on it, but you push it away and grab a bag of salad instead. Again, better this than that.

You throw the bag in your basket, dragging it behind you as you migrate to another spot. Here, you pick a number of fruits that you want- bananas, apples, and a couple oranges for that vitamin C. The bananas trouble you, though. There’s a bunch that looks fairly ripe, but knowing that this fruit never knows when to quit the process of maturation, you want to choose one that’ll last you longer. Picking another bunch off the pile, you study it, eyes noticing the tuft of blonde hair that walks by as you do so. Averting your attention to the other person in the vegetable kingdom, you raise an eyebrow at the back of their head. They are staring very intently at a paper in their hand as they nudge a cart onwards, and when they look around, you notice the familiar features.

The words topple out of your mouth before you have a chance to stop them.

“Oh, fuck.”

And, oh fuck indeed.

Whirling around, you act as if you’ve dropped something and bend down as the blond glimpses at you over his shoulder. Unintentionally, you stick your bum in the air, and it’s literally the only thing the person you’re hiding from sees before he turns with a stifled chortle. Muffled thumps accompany the amused sound, and you realize with another curse that he’s coming over to your side.

Standing fully erect once more, you blindly reach for the bunch of bananas and throw them in your basket. Your hand curls around the handle, and you heave it off the floor as you inhale deeply.

“You all right, ~yoi?” Marco asks as he comes to a stop. The friendly tone has a shiver slithering down your spine to your toes, and not in a good way. Heart thundering, you cough and clear your throat. Fear claims your heart and threatens to shake your composure, but you stay strong. 

“Yep, perfect.” You squeak after a couple seconds of silence stretches into a full minute. Shying away from his piercing gaze, you place one foot in front of the other as casually as you can. The need to face him and ask why he’s here is there, but the answer is rather obvious.

He is here to do criminal things, and you are not sticking around.

“Okay.” He responds merrily, returning to his cart. His eyes shift to the paper again, and, in a moment of unbridled panic, you dash to the nearest hiding spot. Whether he notices or not (it’s probable that he does), you don’t know.

“Goddamn these gang members and their ability to be everywhere.” You curse as you rummage through the contents of your basket. A group of teenagers waltzing by give you a nasty look, one you somehow find the courage to retort. When the tallest flips you the bird, though, you back down with an exaggerated huff.

They send you another look as they round the corner, and when they vanish, you slump into the aisle. You don’t put all your weight on it, though, knowing that if you did you’d have an avalanche to flee from and not just some blond guy in a dark blue turtleneck. Luckily, nobody else strolls by. You’d had enough.

You rub your eyes with balled up fists and a miffed groan, frustration gnawing away at caution. What sort of crime could you even commit at a grocery store? 

Numerous ones, your more rational side pipes in, and ones you should stay out of, just as you’d promised. No, no, you’d promised that you’d forget ever seeing anything. You didn’t promise allegiance and you sure as hell didn’t promise that they were off the hook. Then, your rational side speaks up, sliding the thought of leaving to you.

It seems promising, but then again, you did say you were going to get this done, gang members or not.

…

“Fuck, fine.” You say to no one, raising your hands in defeat. Food WAS important, after all.

Annoyed and still rattled by the encounter, you lean your upper half out of your hiding spot to see if Marco is still there. When you don’t see him, you feel both relieved and extremely put off.

 _Okay, change of plans_. Your mind helpfully provides as you step out of the aisle as inconspicuously as possible. The task to complete your grocery shopping, unfinished, hangs in the back of your mind as your eyes bounce from one person to another dubiously. You linger close to your hiding spot, unsure if you should leave or curl up into a ball and cry.

You considered calling your friend Ally so she could bestow some of her unparalleled wisdom upon you, but decided against it. Bringing somebody else into this mess was the last thing you wanted to do.

What would she say? Maybe, if she was feeling generous, she would blurt out something like: “Fuck outta there and run, you absolute idiot! What are you even doing there?!” Ah, yes… unrivalled… but, no matter. Steeling yourself, you rolled your shoulders and neck, looking more like a runner than a person intent on finding food. You supposed this was a race though, seeing as you did want to leave before more people rolled in like thunder on a gloomy day.

With a hard grip on your basket, you depart from your spot and check your list.

“Vegetables…” Your head swivels to examine your items, “…check, although grabbing two other bags wouldn’t hurt. Maybe something else along the way, and…” You spare it another check, “Milk, eggs, and the bacon. Okay.” And you were off.

Eyes befalling the next aisle, you card your fingers through your hair as you turn, intent on locating the bacon. It’s not far from your current position, so you take your time, still emptying your mind for ideas of what you should buy. Deodorant and a few other toiletries invade your mind, but aside from that, nothing else.

You make it to the meat… place. You don’t know if you can call it an aisle since it covers the expanse of the wall, but you don’t dwell on it. Absentmindedly, you fiddle with your hood, which you had pulled down, and then pick the cheapest package of bacon. It is at an affordable price, and the composition is not terrible, so you take it. You grab another pack for the heck of it, and then move on to find the eggs and the dairy.

You keep playing lookout while you carry on, hauling your container full of sustenance with you. It’s not difficult, but your nerves and heavily perspiring hands are making it tough to grip the basket accordingly. Lucky for you, you’re right beside the place you need to be. Your hand circles the handle to one of the fridges, and with a small huff, you open it. Resting the door on your hip, you bend down, pick two jugs of milk, and place them in your basket, arranging the items so the milk wouldn’t crush anything.

Reading the expiry date, you don’t perceive the figure hovering behind you until you much later. They tap their foot on the tiled floor as they wait, and when you hear a vexed sigh, you pause. Swiftly, you peek at the stranger, seeing an inpatient elderly woman with what you assumed was her grandson beside her.

You exhaled, the breath trapped in your lungs ghosting past your parted lips as you breathe, “Oh..” And apologize, moving aside. You hold the door open for her, and she grabs her desired items and leaves. Without saying thank you, might you add. Clicking your tongue, you roll your eyes at your own inattentiveness, and walk down the little hall made up of glass display boxes and the dairy aisle. The eggs enter your line of vision, and you make sure there are no old women waiting for you to move as you open the door. Grabbing a carton, you inspect it for any cracked food items, shifting your weight to your right foot.

 _It looks fine to me,_ you think with numerous cursory nods of your head. You secure the box, hip jutting outwards. Straightening, you retreat but halt at the reflection that burns holes into the back of your head. Mouth agape, your breath hitches in your throat. You gape at the imposing figure, which is much bigger and muscular than your own, and close your mouth, lips pulled into a taut line.

You know who it is, but you don’t dare move.

Maybe, just maybe, he hadn’t seen your face… Maybe if you stood really still…

“Fancy meeting you here ~yoi.”

The carton nearly flies out of your grasp, terror gripping your heart as it forces it to beat faster. Your body tenses at the sudden and unwelcomed company and bumps into the door to the fridge, essentially knocking that damned basket to the ground. It spills the contents you’d so strictly organized, much to your disappointment.

“ _Fuck!_ ” You rasp, placing one hand on top of the lid to secure the damn thing.

Soft chuckling, right beside your ear, makes you flinch, and your cheeks colour with embarrassment despite the situation. You want to stomp on his foot and run but abstain from seeing such a thing through. You’re preoccupied with the fact you had not heard him march right up to you whatsoever, anyway.

Slowly, you turn around, the box held in one hand as you raise the other one in defeat. When you look straight ahead, all you see is a blue chest, and you don’t know if you prefer having his torso almost brush your face or actually meeting his eye. He puts some distance between both your bodies with another chortle and the redness in your cheeks worsens. Just how does one move that soundlessly?!

When he leans closer and reaches for something over your head, you squeak and screw your eyes shut. The sound is as pathetic as to be expected. It annoys you so much that you drop your face to the floor.

“Do you always cuss when you greet someone or is it just with me ~yoi?” He asks as he places his own carton in his cart. The smile that plays at his lips is full of mirth, and you get the faint feeling that he’s been aware of your presence for the longest time. You blink your eyes owlishly, staring up at him before huffing and turning away, blush still evident. Circling the tower that is Marco, you kneel down to fix your container.

“Just you,” You grunt, rolling your eyes, and startle again when he rounds you and picks up your basket. He tilts his head and grins down (how is he taller than you at the same level, damn it?) at you, presenting you an array of pearly teeth. Marco’s eyes crease at the corners, the ocean blue of his orbs shining with mirth.  Your cheeks bloom with another vibrant shade of red; the six feet and a half giant outright laughs at your response.

“I must be very special, then,” He finishes, smile still plastered on his face, and you want to smack it off. You rise with a glare that’s weakened by your blushing, and grasp the handle of your basket before walking away.

Despite your best efforts to flee, he still catches up to you quickly. His strides are somehow still muted, longer and more casual than yours, and when you see him again you jump and have to stop to just  _breathe_.

He stands by your side while you do, oozing so much amusement you want to  _kick him._ He's so infuriating that you start running the second your heart allows it.

“Wait,” Marco calls after your bolting form, and you halt not because he requested it but because you’re going to crash into another person. Scowling, you toss him a second glare over your shoulder, apologizing to the man who waves you off with a knowing grin. You cringe when he makes a comment about on ’I used to fight with my wife when I was younger. Now she’s too busy to keep me company.’. The tower stops beside you, and you glance at one another. Sidestepping and glowering, you retreat into the closest hall.

“What,” You inhale, waiting for the older man to slink into another aisle, “could you possibly want?” When he doesn’t respond right away, you add, “Actually, scratch that, I don’t want to get caught up in whatever criminal scheme you and your friends have come up with. Bye.” And begin walking again, jittery and shaken and terrified of what he would do.

“Is grocery shopping part of that scheme?” Marco jokingly remarks as he pushes his cart to follow you, aware of the eye roll that almost pops your eyes out of your head. He relinquishes his hold, though, and drops a large hand on your shoulder. Cart forgotten, he moves ten times faster, and the scream that almost tumbles out of your mouth is intercepted when he speaks again.

“I need help,” He suddenly states, sidling up to you. His hand is still on your shoulder and you want to cry, but you don’t move. You don’t want to anger a man this big without knowing what he’s capable of.

Then, a list much like your own is offered to you, and you accept it warily. He points to an item on the paper and you read it out loud.

“Bird feed?” You mused, confused but also surprisingly curious. “…why?” The tone of your voice morphs into distrust again.

Marco, who has to lean down to peer at the paper in your hands, shrugs his huge shoulders and replies, “Don’t know. Thatch wrote this down just as I was going to leave and-” At the sudden interruption of words, you peer up at him.

His eyes turn into two angry slits that mirror your expression from before.

“Goddamn it, Thatch.” Marco gently plucks the paper from your hands despite his obvious annoyance, and you tilt your head. If you were confused before, you’re lost completely now…

“Is something wrong?” You ask with pinched eyebrows. You wonder who this Thatch fellow is, but then remember the promise you’d made and refrain from asking. Marco glances at you, and without another word, draws back his sleeve to reveal a tattoo that covers the entirety of his arm.

“Bird jokes,” He simply responds, and you can’t help but stare at the ink that travels up the limb. His pantone blue sweater hides it partially, but you can spot what it is with no difficulty. A phoenix regards you with heavy-lidded eyes that resemble the owner’s. It curls around his arm, disappearing and materializing again in vivid shades of blue and yellow that contrast and compliment one another incredibly well. The phoenix is surrounded by a cloud of smoke that acts as a shield, protecting and shielding its talons, body, and head. It is the same colour of his body.

“Uh-huh…” You nod, and then the view disappears, replaced with a much darker and less striking blue. Marco grumbles, still miffed about that small joke his friends played on him but makes no other comments. “Well, uh, this… was fun, I guess. I’m just… gonna go over here now…”

Navigating your basket to the nearest shelf, you examine its contents and realize it’s something you want after such strange events. You know and have already said you shouldn’t, but…

A bag of chocolates rests at the very top of the shelf, mocking you as you attempt to reach it. Your fingers brush it, and then another hand enters your line of vision and grasps it. Arching an eyebrow, you gaze at the blond but do not argue. He hands you your item and smiles down at you.

“Thanks for the help, (name).” He says and turns to return to his cart. You inhale deeply, taking a small period of time to muster up the courage to speak.

“No problem.” You sound casual, which is nice, and now… “Nice tattoo, by the way.”

You sense the smile he sends your way, but are too nervous to actually study what it truly means.

And just like that, he’s gone.

You gaze at the spot he last stood, silently wondering if you’re hallucinating. Had you imagined all that? How did he disappear like that? The bag you hold feels like a dead weight for some reason, and with an exhausted huff, you drop it into your cart.

It takes you a while, but you move on, ready to go home after such an ordeal. You know you’re still missing some things, but there are people filing in and you don’t want to take too long at the cashier.

You wander by the exit, and you don’t want to look, but you see spot him crossing the threshold and exiting the store, purchased items in bags. It takes a lot to pretend you didn’t.

You place your items on a conveyor belt and listen to the woman there drone on. She blabbers about a new item that’s for sale, trying to pique your interest. It doesn’t, and you make sure to inform her with a weary smile, one that she returns. The woman doesn’t say anything else after that, but you wish her a good day anyway. You haul your bags into the crook of your arms and proceed by leaving. It appears much clearer than before, and there’s even a bit of blue instead of that dull grey in the sky, and that brightens your mood somewhat.

Adjusting the weight of the bags in your arms, you focus on finding your car, thankfully remembering where you’d parked because of that SUV event. You wonder if the driver has left, but when it comes into view, a part of you dies.

It’s still there, looming over the other vehicles surrounding it. Instead of dwelling on that fact, you book it to your Chevrolet, eyes scanning the gaps separating each vehicle in case someone tries to confront you. It’s then that you hear a feminine voice rising over the sound of your feet crunching over dirt and gravel.

“Goddamn it, I’m telling you, it’s not this one!” The girl hisses desperately, and you’re thinking of steering clear of those people until you realize that it’s your car that they’re fiddling with. You take a moment to process this new information, eyes travelling from the girl waving her arms hectically to your car. There’s someone in it, you’re sure because it’s wiggling like some strange caterpillar.

When the girl opens her mouth again, a boy pops his head out the driver’s side and awards her with a bored glance for her observations. Then it hits you. Stepping closer to get a better view, you furrow your eyebrows at the teen, changing your grip on your bags.

Yep, they’re the teenagers from before.

But weren’t there two more?

Your body responds to your agitated command to move, and you twirl around, intent on escaping before they discovered you. The stomping of feet on the ground urges you to move faster, and then you find a car to hide behind. It’s not that far from the teens, but it’s not right beside them either. 

You wait, head peeking out the side of the vehicle, and ponder over your options.

You can continue to hide and wait for the kids to leave or steal your only car, or you can run back to the grocery store and alert someone that there a group of meddling kids snooping. It seems the safest, but then if they notice you, you won’t make it very far. Your arms are aching, but you don’t want to place the bags on the ground. The chocolates and everything else was your money, and any smart person does not throw money for others to steal.

“Then which one is it?” A deeper voice retorts angrily.

“It’s this one, you idiots.” This one is less deep, and sounds a bit nasally. You identify its owner, who is rummaging through the red SUV. A knife is deeply embedded in one of its wheels, and you feel sympathy for whoever has to pay for that. 

The owner, you note, seems to appear out of thin air.

“You kids lose something?”

Stupid, ridiculous, infuriating gang members.

Somewhere he can’t see, Marco hears a smack.

Sliding your hand down your face, you rest your head on the window of the car, exasperated. It’s a good thing they can’t see you, or the friendly hand gesture you delicately pack and mail their way with a bow on top. The kid with the nasal voice faces the older man, a manic grin splitting his lips. You scoot further back, but keep the scene in front of you in your line of sight.

The trio advances on the blond, who appears too relaxed. It takes all your willpower to not break out into a sprint when they finally leave your car alone, its doors open. You know waiting is your best option here.

The conversation lags, and you realize it’s not because of the kid’s lack of social skills, but because of their lack of manners (or maybe it was both?). The nasally-voiced leader fishes out another knife from his back pocket, stance widening into more stable one. His compadres follow his actions, settling right beside him, and even though your chances of making it to your car are slim, you run. You don’t feel the heaviness of your bags as you sprint through vehicles, away from the road and where that horrifying nuisance is handling the kiddos.

You make it to the door but are yanked away by your hair just as your hand grasps the handle. With a meek yelp, you are slammed against the side of your car, a knife pressed to the column of your neck. The blade glints menacingly in the hand of yet another boy, whose eyes are burning holes into your retinas. Pain slithers up your spine into the back of your head.

You feel woozy from the impact, but will your vision to clear and focus on your attacker. The knife pierces the skin, and with a flinch, the bags slip from your grasp. A bead of blood dribbles down the blade, leaving a trail and disappearing somewhere on the ground. Your heart is fluttering in your chest like a shackled bird, and you start feeling nauseous.

While all this is happening, Marco is fighting the other three, as they are finished with pleasantries. The sounds you hear are mostly from the kids, who struggle to free their hands as the blond twists their wrists painfully. Crying out, the accomplices release their hold on their weapons and attempt to free themselves with both hands. Marco shoves them away, and the fall sounds as painful as it is, considering the strength accompanying the blow.

Nasally-voiced kid twirls his own knife, trying to intimidate, but defeated easily. When he strikes, Marco smacks the blade out of his hand and grips his wrist, twisting his arm behind him so that he is trapped. He pushes the kid's head down and straightens his arm so that the position is even more uncomfortable, and the kid hollers as his shoulder is nearly wrenched out of its socket.

“Listen, uh… I don’t know what your name is but… let’s not do this?” You try reasoning with the teen, shakily, who grabs your collar and adds more pressure on your neck. It hurts like a bitch, and you let him know with a hard kick on the shin. He flinches but doesn't surrender his stubborn hold on your collar. It sparks another burst of fear, because there is more blood dripping down your neck. The sting of the blade spreads as he slides it up to the tender spot between the jaw bones, close to your chin. Forcing your lungs to function, you close your eyes, shaking from the fear. Were this kid to shove the knife any deeper, it would be game over for you.

You try to keep your breathing at a steady rhythm, but the panic and pain are escalating and the fact that you can’t simply shake this kid off is worrisome.

There is a lack of noise to your left that makes you wonder if Marco has decided to abandon you, but it turns out that he used his outrageous stealth to bring himself closer while the teen is focused on scaring you into submission.

The blond sports an impassive look on his face that doubles the red flags flailing around in your head, and with wide, tearful eyes you internally beg him to get this little shit off you. Your heart thumps into your chest, your throat is closing up, and he is not helping because he doesn’t look like he wants to, and you want to freak out.

Shifting, you attempt to alleviate the pain in your neck, and Marco breaks the fierce eye contact to lock his blue eyes with yours. It lasts but a mere second, but he knows that the mistake has been made. It’s all the teenager needs to jerk you from the side of your vehicle and in front of him, the knife still nestled against your neck threateningly. Biting your lip, you bite back a pitiful whimper, and wait for Marco to wake the hell up and save you already.

He owes you because if it wasn’t for you, he would’ve bought that stupid bird feed. If it wasn’t for you, he would be crapping seeds for days and you prevented that. Marco fucking owes you.

The air is so tense you want to grab the damn knife and chop it up, but you _can’t_. You want to alert somebody of your current peril with a good scream, but the flow of people that had previously invaded the store is gone and it’s dead silent. There is nobody but you and… them.

Out of the blue, Marco smiles at the teen, and he instinctively brings you closer to use as a shield. The blond still appears much too calm, and it’s starting to wear your composure down.

_Don’t you dare leave me. Don’t you dare leave me._

You repeat this in your head like a mantra, searching the blond’s eyes and begging him to do something.

He does- or really, says something, but it's not what you were waiting for.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in school ~yoi?”

The teen growls and makes no other sound.

You’re getting really tired of this. Your shoulders are aching, suffering, and the feeling of blood trickling down your neck is insufferable, so you do what you think is best. Using your trembling hands, you grip the teen’s sleeves just like he grabbed your collar, and force the blade aside. Then, you ram your body into his, knocking him off balance and into another vehicle. He is dazed, and you take it as your chance to march up to the blond and grab his shoulders. Marco looks confused but then realizes with a short sigh as you push him in the direction of the kid.

You want them to go, and you want that to happen now.

But you also push him because you want to strangle Marco, and you would have succeeded if it wasn't for his height. 

Lifting a hand, you lay your fingers on your neck, where there is a small cut. Its source is obvious, and tremors begin shaking your body as you mull over the past events. Tears well up in your eyes, and you hear the other two talking, but you don’t bother acknowledging their words. It’s too much. This is too much. You want to fly yourself into the sun.

The teens haul their asses off of the ground, and with one last curse and middle finger, they depart from the scene. You don’t care.

Marco is checking the last teenager’s arm, where a crookedly drawn tattoo resides. You don’t get to see it properly, but you believe you catch a red nose and a skull.

“Tell Buggy to think before he goes around sending runts like you after people like me.”

The silence that follows is deafening.

The anxiety is sprouting from your stomach, branching out into every limb and your mind, rendering you immobile. Your feet are glued to the ground, and you can’t help but tense up in anticipation, shoulders drawing back. Tears stream down your face, uninterrupted until you wipe them away and nearly keel over. Leaning your weight on your Chevrolet, you sniffle and turn to one of your problems. He scans the distance with an apologetic look on his face.

For a reason unknown to you, it pisses you the fuck off. It drives you to climb into the driver’s seat of your car and cross your arms over the steering wheel, wounded chin resting on them. Then, you slam the car door shut and rub your eyes.

You think he’ll go away if you just remain seated, but it comes as a surprise when you hear the trunk of your car opening and rustling from there.

He’s putting the bags in your trunk.

“Oh my god, just _leave_ …” You mutter, tugging at your hair. Inside, you can’t help but feel a little grateful, though.

Rounding the car, he trudges over to the other side and lightly raps his knuckles on the glass.

“No, fuck you, go away.” He tilts his head, eyebrow raised. Marco peers at you with troubled eyes. You know what it’s about, but you don’t want to _chat_.

You roll down the window instead, avoiding eye contact.

“What the fuck do you want,” You demand, tears still running down your face in rivulets. No reply.

Jaw tightened, you wait for a minute, staring at your tremulous hands.

You  _know_ that opening the door for him means inviting your future death inside. You  _know,_ and yet that inkling of gratefulness whisks you away from those ruminations. Biting your lip, you peek at him from beneath your lashes, shaking your head in disbelief.  _I'm going to die, and very fucking soon._

At last, you open the door for him, and he settles down with a profound sigh. The silence stretches on uncomfortably.

“Are you hurt ~yoi?” He asks softly, eyes trained on the outside world. Unlike Ace and the first time you saw him fight, there isn’t a trace of a scuffle on him. Not even a scratch.

Head swivelling to look at him, you jut out your jaw and respond by revealing your neck to him. You’ve dabbed most of the blood away with your jacket, but there are still red splotches here and there. He examines the wound, eyes lingering on your (skin colour) neck before he averts his gaze down to your collar. The skin there is an angry red and protrudes from under your shirt, still wrinkled because of how the teen grabbed it.

“Let’s get you home.”

“I’m not driving.”

A pause and a confused look are sent your way. You remove your coat and show him what you mean, shooting another question. When he eyes your hands, he understands and nods, scanning the outside world again. In here, it feels as if you're locked in, caged. Caged with a beast that's kind, maddeningly so, but also one of the most dangerous people you'd ever met. The sensation of being shackled to this stupid car because of your trepidation makes your heart clench.

“Who in the fuck were those people?”

Your hands tremble and tingle badly, and you spread your fingers on your thighs to stop them as you regard him. Marco shakes his head.

“(name)…”

“Right, I know, see, and say nothing that does not concern me.” You provide, mind replaying the little meeting you set up in your living room. It feels like a lifetime ago, with the awkward conversation and comments haphazardly tossed around. To think that at one point you'd been at ease for at least 30 seconds and relaxed enough around them to actually focus on what they were saying and not on your own panic. That didn't matter anymore. “But I’m pretty sure this actually does _fucking_ concern me. I was _bleeding_. I was almost _killed_ because of you.”

Your words cut through the silence as you pick at your jeans, lips forming a taut line. The truth in your statements hurts you, and your heart lurches in your ribcage for a second time.

“...(name).”

" _WHAT_.” You snap, fingers itching, breathing ragged. The sensation in your hand worsens when you hear his next statement.

“Let’s get you home.”

“Goddamn you all and fuck this- **_fine!_** ” You wrench the door open, and he mirrors your actions yet more calmly, and switch sides, fuming all the way. He holds out a hand, glad to have the patience he does. Marco has to deal with more than 100 brothers of all ages, after all. It’s only normal that he becomes unflappable. Marco knows how to act accordingly so whoever is badly shaken can calm down.

Already expecting this, you give him the keys, and the drive begins.

The SUV comes closer as you look behind, and you can’t help but say the words brewing inside your head.

“That’s your car,” You point to the red vehicle. He nods in confirmation, and shame crawls up your spine. Clicking your tongue, you shake your head and mumble, “Of course it is...”

So, it wasn't just a random stranger you cut off, it had been him. _Of course, it had to be him._ The triumph you'd felt just as you entered the store shrivels up and dies, and the tremors invade your legs. 

Marco pulls into the nearest street, expression grim as he rumbles by the buildings towering above you. He looks uncomfortable, with his head slightly lowered so it doesn’t bump against the top of the car. It amuses you a little, but you don’t show it.

Trees lining the street become your interest, and you lean your head on the window, counting each one as they disappear behind you. It’s soothing, but your heart is still racing, hands still shaking, and your brain feels like a stone. It's heavy and more of a chore than anything else, and you rub your temples with a sniff. You lose track of the twists and turns he makes, too abstracted to actually make it past ten as you contemplate… everything. He is driving your car, and he could be taking you to a bridge so he could dump you into a river or something, but you can't find it in yourself to actually-

“I bought the bird food ~yoi.” You startle, blinking rapidly to clear your vision and frown at him.

“You… did what?” 

“I bought the bird food… for Thatch. I’m going to get him back.”

Again with that name. You want to know so badly, but the curiosity fades away when the image of a knife flashes in front of your eyes.

“…yeah? Well, make sure to mention me when you get him.” You reply quietly, the ghost of a smile on your face. It’s so dumb you can’t help but feel a little better.

“What should I say to him?” He inquires, eyebrow rising curiosity and gladly accepting the small change in your voice.

“Tell him to not prank you again.” You say after some thought, and then add, “So I don’t have to deal with your sorry ass.” You spare him a look to gauge his reaction. Marco grins and chuckles.

“I might filter that a bit.” He trails off as he makes another turn. You hope he doesn't filter it at all. “But I’ll make sure to let him know.”

You let the silence drag on. You're tired of talking, and after that whole ordeal, you want to rest. Most of the agitation circulating through your body dissipated with the view of the grocery store. Now, with rattled nerves recovering and a certain yearning in the back of your throat, you close your eyes. Instead of addressing that need properly, you reply, shaking your head.

“Well, good. Now... uh... where are you taking me?”

“To a safe house, since your place isn’t the most optimal option right now.”

“But you said- Ace said- My apartment is fine. I’ve waited two days.” You protest, but you taste the lie in your mouth.

“Ace says a lot of things, doesn’t he?” He murmurs, closing his eyes as he comes to a halt at a streetlight. He breathes in and leans his elbow on the steering wheel, eyes finding yours. “I don’t know if you believed what he said, but… you’re not safe. Once you come in contact with one of us… you are at risk. Always.” Marco explains, hands returning to their rightful spot as he starts up again, the light green.

“I didn’t believe him for a second.” A bitter laugh reaches his ears, and he feels sympathy for you. "I just want to go home. I don't want to have to deal with this." Your hand brushes your injury, and you flinch, fear rearing its ugly head again.

“We’ll fix this ~yoi.” He says, more to himself. You get a distinct feeling that he doesn’t mean you, specifically, but still speak.

“You will, not me. I have to keep my nose out of your business, remember?” Comes your smart reply, (eye colour) eyes back to the scenery that blurs past you two. The trembling has all but left your body, and you are thankful for such a blessing. It’s the twitching in your leg that you have to tend to now.

Marco chuckles, the rich sound reverberating around the small space. “Yeah… true.” Then, he pulls over, shutting the lights off and pulling the key out of its position. “We’re here ~yoi.”

“We’re… at the safe house?” You begin, skepticism emerging fully.

“Yeah- now, c’mon,” The door opens, but you don’t shadow the movement. “You’ll be okay, (name).” He’s grabbing your bags, muscles working underneath the blue sweater. In the end, you see no other choice and drag your feet after him.

The safe house, unlike you had envisioned, is not an enormous base that sticks out to the extreme. Instead, it is a door on the side of a building, in an alley (you ignore the sickness in your stomach), all metal with nothing but a small symbol like the one on Marco’s chest to inform you that it is the… what was it… the Whitebeard gang?

Graffiti paints the walls in multiple neon colours, and it piques your interest for a good second before you snap back to the troublesome worry at hand…

A tug at his sleeve makes him pause. “Is there anyone in there?”

“Who knows,” He replies as he fishes out a key, balancing the weight of the bags without breaking a sweat. "But if there is, just stay with me and you'll be okay." 

The last you want to do is spend any more time with him, but aside from Ace and Marco, there is nobody else in this band of hooligans that you can even remotely 'trust'. 

“...Well, I’m already knee deep in this whole mess, so why not dive head first into it?” Your answer is in another realm of sarcastic. It reminds him of Izo, which brightens his mood, and he smiles to himself. He fears that if he mentions that, you'll kick him and keep kicking until you make sure he's dead. Still, it doesn't stop him from sparing you a quick glance. You're leaning your head against the side of the building, heavy-lidded eyes staring up at him. Marco breaks the eye contact before it turns awkward. 

“I like the way you think.” Marco laughs, “Optimism can get you very far.”

And with that, he taps the door open with his foot, allowing you passage.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the by, if you see lots of repetition, mistakes, or anything weird, please PLEASE tell me. I've been editing and trying to improve my writing style with the help of some online websites, but my eyes still miss some things. Especially when my brain is faster than my hands. I NEED to know so I can get better, so if you wanna be like: "bih wtf does this say¿" that'll still be cool with me and I'll still be grateful xD
> 
> I also tried adding a bit of foreshadowing, which is something I don't think I'll ever be able to pull off. Let's see if you can look back on this chapter and find it in the future because shit -will- go down.
> 
> I wish you all the best, and I hope you enjoyed. This was fun to write.
> 
> EDIT: Word count is over 9000, by the way lmaooo


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Just wanted to drop by and say that not much happens in this chapter, which I'm really sorry for. 
> 
> It lets you see underneath the surface of the whole WB gang a little bit, but... not much progression today. I'm sorry for that. You DO get to meet somebody new!! (Several people, really... but you'll get my meaning when you get there. This someone is very special!!) Also, some development between you and phoenix boy, kind of... but that's about it. Again, sorry for the slow-moving chap. I needed to get this out of my system because hmm I've been wanting to introduce the special someone. I'll be editing this for the next few days, make some changes, so if you notice something different in this (or any) chapter, that'll be why.
> 
> Moving on from that, I want to thank Claire.D.Luna for commenting yesterday. I was having a shitshow of a day and you made it a lot better, so thank you so much. I would also like to thank everybody for 140+ kudos on this story!!! The amount of support this has received is mind-blowing to me, so thank you thank you. It means a whole fucking lot, I can promise you that. 
> 
> I await your comments :') 
> 
> Now, read on!

_And with that, he taps the door open with his foot, allowing you passage._

The door swings open, giving a shrill squeak at the movement, and you don’t get to peer inside until Marco steps out of the way. You’re grateful for the chivalrous action, but you shake your head. Motioning him to head inside, you hold the door so he doesn’t have to lean against it. Marco raises an eyebrow at you, which you return, albeit weakly, and enters first.

You move to follow, then halt mid-step as you glance at your hands, frowning. The shock from before impacted you to a great extent, but you thought that you would have recovered by now. After all, the tremors had all but disappeared in the car… so why were they back now? Those teenagers were too far for them to magically emerge again, and you were nowhere near another parking lot. 

Leaning all your weight on one foot, you ponder over your current problem. You have an idea —an _inkling_ of it, really— of what it could be, though instead of addressing it like a proper adult, you bury and ignore it. It could wait, right? After all, the tremors would fade all on their lonesome and you’d be able to handle it better later. _Later_.

Shaking your head, you steel your nerves, school your features so they rest at a neutral expression, and enter the safe house. Inside, the obscurity blinds you, intimidating you so that sweat begins to collect in your palms. A certain blond’s name works its way up your throat, but you don’t call out to him, afraid to disrupt the silence.

Squinting, you tentatively place a foot in front of you and lean closer to the darkness, eyes trying to adjust. You think you catch a glimpse of a chair, but you can’t be too sure. Vaguely, you listen to Marco mumble about a light switch, bags rustling. He steps into the little light that the outside provides, checking if you’re still there before he disappears again. The way he moves is like always: quiet enough so that you don’t hear him coming, but also loud enough to scare you shitless when you do. And that’s usually when he’s invaded your personal space, especially when you’re counting eggs in a box.

You are drawn to his expression, like a weird moth to a flame. Like a terrified moth to a six-foot-and-a-half flame. The second version, you think, makes for a much more intriguing tale.

It was one you’d only seen back at your apartment. When Marco had spoken to Ace at the entrance, his expression had been indecipherable. His face, all the way from your introduction to the couch, had been as blank as a sheet of paper. Eyes half-lidded, mouth curled into a small frown, studying every detail in the room with striking swiftness…

In the end, it was an expression that unnerved you to great lengths.

But seeing as it was probably his neutral expression, you’d forced your mind to get used to it. Marco had been nothing but kind, polite, and generally not a bad human being to you. He scared the hell out of you, but still. His gang could’ve been hounding you for knowing things you shouldn’t attempt to think about, and they’re not. And, admittedly, he was kind of funny, so… you _could try_ being less of an ass to him. _Even_ if he was a criminal.

The thought pelts down on you like freezing rain, filling up the bucket of incessant stress and anxiety you seemed to be holding above your head. Though, there was nothing more you could do. This was your life, and right now you were gazing into a room of murkiness and doom.

Bravely, you inch forward, wondering if perhaps you could find the damn light switch. Aside from Marco’s searching, you heard no other sounds, which alleviated most of your fears. You raise your hand, scouring the wall to your left and flinching when you smack it too hard, the sound echoing eerily. Then, when your fingers brush what you can assume is a light switch, you flip it.

Light floods the room, depriving you of your vision for a couple seconds as you wince. When your eyes are back to normal, you spot Marco in front of you, his hand outstretched as if he’d just realized where the damn thing had been. He sighs tiredly, sending you a brief smile in thanks, and balances half of the bags in the once free arm. Raising an eyebrow, he scans the room, which as you’d previously suspected, is littered with tables and chairs.

He directs his cerulean eyes back to yours when you pry a bag from him, then two, and finally three. Feeling his eyes on your head, you glance up at him, then hastily step back and defend yourself.

“They’re my bags,” You begin awkwardly, clearing your throat, “The least I can do is carry them.” Marco stares at you for a while longer, then smiles to himself and shrugs, turning away.

“Alright,” He says, studying the room, “Where do you want them?” Marco asks a second later, standing in the middle of the room. The round tables and chairs placed abnormally about the place are off-putting, but not in the way that one might think. They’re not strewn about the room, which is what you encounter day and night at work. No, the chairs are planted on the floor in a way that suggests that somebody deliberately positioned them so they seemed unused.

When Marco notices that you are not replying, he sighs, and then for some reason walks to the back of the room. It’s there that you spot a bar that resembles the one back at your own work place, and with a shudder, slowly retreat to the entrance. Focusing on Marco’s back, you grip your bags closer to you, teeth worrying your lip. He moves achingly slow, his footsteps a non-existent sound as you watch.

You’re nearly across the threshold when a distant _click_ shakes your focus, and you freeze, eyes blowing wide as you recognize the sound. Sucking in a deep breath, you screw your eyes shut and stop, breathing coming in short pants. Without another thought, you whirl, drop your bags and come eye to eye with a pistol. The person presses it against your forehead, sticky with more sweat, and you halt at the feel of the cool metal.

“ _Don’t_. _Move_.” A male voice commands, and you obey, swallowing harshly to clear your throat. You’re getting ready to plead for mercy when Marco, at the sudden voice, speaks up.

“Izo,” He calls, eyebrow arched, and approaches you both. His voice is relaxed, almost like he was expecting this to transpire, and the need to smack him returns full force. “Thatch, and everyone else that’s in here, what are you doing?” Izo’s plucked eyebrow twitches in annoyance, and he scowls angrily. You fear for your life as his eyes settle back on you. You’re so afraid to break the tense contact that you don’t bother blinking.

Izo eyes drift back to Marco, and you sneak a small stride, which does not go unnoticed by this terrifying man. He jerks the gun closer to your face without even looking at you, a threat set and ready to be fired away at the tip of the gun.

After a brief moment of silence, the gun slowly falls from your face, allowing you to breathe normally. The sound you make as you do has Izo glimpsing at you as if you’re crazy, which you don’t register. Then, he walks to the back of the room and to the bar, holstering the pistol. He sits down on one of the stools with a heavy sigh, rubbing his temples and hunching over.

“It’s okay, Thatch.” He grumbles, “Just Marco and his girlfriend.”

You don’t see Marco’s glare as you spin around, hand clutching your heart as you blink rapidly. Shaking your head, you stare incredulously at Marco in the ’is this even real?’ way, who bites back a groan.

Before Marco can even try to deny any more assumptions on the state of your… relationship, another person behind the counter pipes in and interrupts him.

“ _YOU_ have a girlfriend?!” A deep voice yells from behind the bar and then screams _’OW’_ when whoever is back there literally slams their head against the underside of the counter. It’s enough to get you to drop the look you were sending Marco, and the relief that floods his expression would’ve been laughable if it wasn’t for what happened.

The room is silent for a minute, the person’s mistake holding them back from revealing themselves.

Izo huffs and shakes his head, nursing an obvious headache and rubbing his temples. His hands are surprisingly well-taken care of, you note with an airy exhale, even though you were being held at gunpoint not even five minutes ago.

It’s almost as if this accident lifts the tension from the room, because more people begin to pile into the room, of which you obviously don’t recognize. More individuals surface from beyond the bar, all sporting bewildered looks on their faces. They’re all muttering 'You have a girlfriend?' And 'Dude, since when?'. There’re less people than you thought there would be, but the men here are still too intimidating. They’re tall, much taller than you, and way more muscular, and you know running away isn’t an option anymore as the door is slammed shut.

When the owner of the voice finally pops up, your jaw drops open in surprise, recognition lighting up your features. The man, whom you gather is Thatch, frantically surveys the room and comically mirrors your expression when your eyes meet.

He sputters, shakes his head, sputters again, and then points, “It’s you, the girl from the bar!” A smile splits his lips at the memory of you serving them, and there is no doubt anywhere in your being that he is silently laughing at how apparent you’d made your fear back then. “A little young, don’t you think, bro?” Marco fixes him with a pointed glare that Thatch returns with a grin, and the blond sighs, exhausted.

“She’s not— she’s not my girlfriend.” Marco hisses the last word, pinching the bridge of his nose in annoyance, “Now put the gun down, why don’t you.” He finishes, sliding a hand down the side of his face and scratching his chin, eyes narrowed.

“Oh, right.”

 _CLACK_.

“What the _fuck_?” You heave without meaning to, blatantly staring at the shotgun Thatch brandished without a single care. The man with the pompadour blinks in your direction, and, realizing his mistake, awkwardly glides the weapon off the counter. It crashes to the floor, and Thatch hastily bends down to place it back to wherever the hell it came from. He materializes with a smile, sheepish laughter bubbling up his throat at Marco’s quiet facepalm.  Thatch mutters an apology and rubs the back of his head.

Shaking his head, Marco regards you coolly, hand outstretched in front of him to calm you.

“(name), it’s okay.” Marco’s smooth voice reaches your ears. It’s enough to cut your staring contest with the place the shotgun resided short. He saunters up to you and collecting your forgotten items, and you send him a weary glance. Honestly, he can say whatever the hell he wants, but the numerous guns surrounding you threaten otherwise.

They disappear into their holsters and pockets the more you peer at them, which you can at least feel thankful for. Another clack makes you jump, and your spine straightens in apprehension, fists curling and unfurling anxiously.

Marco motions you to follow him to the bar, where Izo is gulping down a drink. He barely even looks at you as you perch yourself on the stools closest to him with Marco at your side. Nervousness racks your spine, and you take your bags and place them at your feet, blinking owlishly when you see the bag of chocolates you’d purchased.

 _Not now…_ you think, although it’s last thing you want to say to yourself. You’d bought the bag out of stress, and now you want to eat it because of said stress. Sadly, you munching on chocolate wouldn’t act as the most impressive picture, so you direct your attention elsewhere.

When things quiet down slightly and the people here relax, you force your body to do the same. Your shoulders are already in pain from crashing into your car, and tensing up isn’t really alleviating the pain. Remembering your wound, you self-consciously rub your neck, fingers trailing the cut. It’s deeper in some places, especially below your chin, and stings the more you try rubbing it. The skin of your hand turns a red, and you’ve no doubt the skin on your neck appears the same way.

Sighing internally, you pull your hand back, vaguely noticing a certain pair of cerulean eyes on you.

“Thatch, get me the first aid kit,” Marco calmly orders, eying the injury the teen inflicted. His eyes flicker to yours when you shift in your spot, using your shoulder to conceal the wound as you grip the counter. You’re about to deny any assistance when Izo’s pistol flashes through your mind, and you relent, mumbling your complaints to none but yourself. You don’t want to anger anybody here much less the man in the kimono, and your complaints would do just that.

Thatch nods and walks through a door by the bar, leaving you alone to wait with Marco. He says nothing else, even when you quietly state that you could take care of it when you returned home.

The solitude doesn’t last.

“So, why are you here?”

You startle, jumping in your spot as your head swivels to meet a pair of dark blue ones. A… man… teenager? You’re going to say man, for safety reasons, stands behind you, hands on his hips as he peers at you curiously. He sports a lime green tunic, decorated with a white ruff and bouffant shoulders. The… man is wearing white tights and pointed blue shoes that bend upward slightly.

“…um…” Comes your genius reply, and he smirks at Marco. The blond raises an eyebrow in warning, adjusting the way he sits so he faces both of you fully.

“Haruta, not now,” Marco answers for you, and he sighs, annoyed because he knows what Haruta is going to-

“Are you really his girlfriend?” Haruta overlooks Marco’s warning, smirk still glued to his face as he leans forward. The sudden change in his posture makes you flinch internally when he moves closer, but you don’t let your unease shine through. You put some distance between the two of you with a nervous smile, your feet brushing over your bags. His ears picking up the rustle of the bags, Haruta looks down, mouth forming an ’O’ in mock astonishment.

“You guys went shopping together?” He teases, cackling, and you clear your throat soundlessly.

“Haruta—” Marco begins, clicking his tongue, but you interrupt him by raising your hand. You’re done with having him talk for you; you are not a little girl.

“Actually, no,” You reply, far more serene than you truly felt, “We didn’t, so… if you could just…” Waving your hands in the air between you two, you wait for him to go. You should’ve thought of a snarky reply, but… well, you can’t always do that, can you? Haruta laughs again, the wicked gleam in his eyes stripping you of any confidence and calm, and you’re left to stare.

“I like you!” He declares happily, smug gaze bouncing to Marco and then back to you, and he chuckles again. Marco rolls his eyes in response, shaking his head to reassure you that no, this guy is going to do nothing bad except look at your bag of chocolates.

_Wait, what?_

“How did you…?” You breathe in shock, reaching down and sorting through your bags.  Haruta’s gaze flits over to you, mirthful and much too amused for your liking. Cheekily, he pulls the bag open, takes a chocolate, and then hands it back to you when you sit up. You stare at it, bewildered, and try speaking a coherent phrase. “How- how did you do that?”

Haruta doesn’t respond, but he does look at you again, that sparkle still present as he rounds the bar. He begins fishing out bottles from underneath the counter, placing things back when they don’t interest him.

Meanwhile, Thatch has finally returned, the first aid kit in his hands. He hands it to Marco with a grin that falls when Haruta accidentally knocks a bottle off the shelf. “Hey! I just organized those!” And then he’s back there as well.

“Marco,” You say, clearing your throat for a second time when he opens the kit. “I can take care of… this when I get home.” And you really could. Treating an injury like the one you’re parading isn’t difficult. You’d have to dig through your apartment for a little while, but you’d eventually get it done… eventually.

Marco shakes his head, extracting bandages and a small bottle of rubbing alcohol from the nice little kit. The seriousness in his expression leaves no room for an argument and you furrow your eyebrows. Turning away, exasperated, you wait for your impending, impromptu doctor’s appointment with a criminal. Haruta is watching you both while wiggling his eyebrows in Marco’s direction, who promptly ignores him as he works.

“Haruta,” Marco calls the shorter man, who’s being forced out from behind the bar by Thatch. Haruta looks up from his duel with the taller man, who takes the distraction as an advantage and shoves him out.

“Yeah?” The man in question replies casually as if what had just happened didn’t happen. You want to laugh at his antics, but are too scared to even utter a peep. Instead, you continue to wait for Marco to finish up whatever he’s doing.  

“Why are you here?” Marco asks unhurriedly, shaking his head slightly when Haruta sneaks back into the bar with a quickness that roughly matched the blond’s. Haruta leans his lithe body against the counter and shrugs, leaning his head on a propped up hand with a bored expression.

“Got bored.”

“And your division?” The blond prompts slowly, grabbing some cotton and pouring some rubbing alcohol on it while Haruta shrugs a second time. Your eyebrows scrunch up at the word. Division. What does that even mean?

“They’re fine. Just finished a… an _errand_.” Haruta finishes his sentence in a rush. It’s an obvious attempt to keep you from prying, and it works, especially when, without precursor, your injury starts to burn like it’s been set ablaze. Okay, that's an exaggeration. It’s not _that_ bad, but Marco’s gentle actions are unforeseen since you didn’t think that’d he’d treat your neck while speaking.

“Ow.” You gripe softly, but crane your neck to the side so he could work better. He smirks, the corners of his eyes crinkling, and you curse your mind, body, and traitorous heart when your face heats up. Warmth rushes up the column of your neck all the way to the tip of your ears, and you have to remind yourself to breathe because you know he’s noticed. You know he knows, and it’s more embarrassing that way. The way this situation must look has finally struck you down, and of course your body responds with the only way it can: by turning into a tomato.

Thankfully though, he doesn’t comment on it. Now that would have killed you.

You tilt your head back so he can clean the cut nearest to your chin, warmth radiating off you like a damn heater. Marco doesn’t mention this either, which is fantastic, as he is too busy applying ointment to your neck. It’s cold, but instead of feeling awful like the stupid rubbing alcohol, it feels pleasant. The friction from the scuffle probably burned you in some way or another.

With a quiet sigh, you wait for him to finish up, thinking about how natural this appears for the older man. It doesn’t even look like he wants to embarrass you. It’s almost as if he’s done this a million times for other people in his life.

Or perhaps he’s doing this because he feels bad for before? It sure felt like he was sorry, but… it’s also not like you trust each other.

_Oh, whatever. I just want him to be done._

Meanwhile, Haruta snickers in the background, covering his mouth to muffle his sounds even if it is unsuccessful. Flipping the bird seems like the most appropriate approach, but you doubt that anyone here would appreciate that. It’s good for you and him that you don’t have the guts to follow such plans.

Haruta stops halfway through his fit and you release a sigh of relief at that. Standing fully erect as he searches the room for a certain individual, he plants his hands on the counter as leverage.

“Have you seen Ace? He should’ve gotten here like… an hour ago, and we don’t have all day.” Haruta frowns and Thatch perceives this as the chance to butt in, and quite literally. He bumps the shorter man with his hip, nearly sending him flying, and provides a response.

“Had a bit of a problem,” Thatch explains, his lips curling upward when Haruta punches his shoulder. It has little effect on the man. Nonetheless, Haruta questions him, voice low in annoyance.

“A problem.” Haruta reiterates, all huffy puffy, and crosses his arms in front of his chest. He stands there for a minute, before adding, “Well, tell him to hurry up. I gotta get back to wo- my errands.” Thatch, bemused, makes a small sound in the back of his throat before it dawns on him as well. You huff to yourself, head righting itself when Marco pulls away. It takes every bit of willpower you have to not kick Marco for embarrassing you like this.

“What happened to you, anyway?” Thatch queries as he crosses his arms and rests his weight on the bar curiously. You don’t miss the way he looks at Izo, who you’d completely forgotten about until now, but don’t bother wondering. It’s a glance filled with worry, and you can honestly see why, but…

“A couple of teenagers,” Marco elaborates all too helpfully, pressing a piece of gauze to your neck and ignoring your pleading eyes. This is too embarrassing for you! And he doesn’t look like he cares! He holds in place while he scours the kit for medical tape, and every second it takes is one more second that doubles your mortification. When he spots it, he rips two small pieces and sticks them to your neck, never touching your skin. Not even an accidental light brush.

“Uh-huh…” Thatch nods, lips moving to the side in thought. He too has noticed Marco’s movements and is making sure you’re aware of that by grinning irreverently. “And?”

“ _And_ , they were Buggy’s.” Marco ends this statement by tugging another two pieces of tape free and sticking them to your neck, where you’ve already dropped your hands to your lap. You fidget in your seat shyly at Thatch’s and Haruta’s knowing looks toward the blond. You also don’t question whoever ‘Buggy’ is.

“ _Ohhh-_ wait, don’t tell me it was at the grocery—” Thatch is unable to finish talking, cut off by his own guffaw when Marco confirms his assumptions with a tired nod. He throws his head back when he laughs, smacking the counter in disbelief. “Again?”

“Yeah.”

“ _Man_ …” Thatch sighs, scratching the back of his neck and chortling some more. “And I’m assuming you got caught up in that mess?” He tilts his head to the side, and you realize with a start that he’s addressing you now.

“Uh… yeah.”

“That explains this whole thing.” The man with the pompadour nods a second time, peering down at Haruta who’s also chuckling.

“Yeah.” Marco exhales, leaning back and admiring the work on your neck. He examines it for a second before concluding that you’d be peachy from now on with your fresh bandage.

“I…” _Come on, (name_ ). “You know, I could’ve…” You motion to the kit with a finger and Marco arches an eyebrow at your incapability to talk. You were cursing both him and every gang in the universe not an hour ago and now… now look at you. “But uh… thanks.”

“You’re welcome, (name).” Marco smiles genuinely, that array of pearly teeth taking you off guard for a second time today. He collects all the things he did and didn’t use and stuffs them in the kit, leaving you to deal with the stupid blush on your own. “And you two, stop staring. Has nobody taught you any manners?” Haruta cackles evilly and twirls away with his hands up, and Thatch joins along. Marco watches them with annoyance, although his body language suggests a fondness that you grin at.

Brushing some hair out of your face, you proceed by drumming your fingers on the bar, listening to the rumble of the people behind you conversing. It’s not ordinary for you to be sitting here. You’re an outsider and definitely not part of their gang… but Marco hasn’t said anything about allowing you to leave.

Who knows, maybe he’d do what Ace did back at your apartment. Stay with you for two days, disappear for another couple, and then barrel into it once more at lightning speed. Although, Ace hadn’t done that.

“Hey, bar girl, you alright?” Thatch asks you, and you snap out of the daze you’d webbed your mind in. You stop drumming your fingers as you look up at the man, who you realize is slightly taller than Marco. If Marco was a tower, this guy is a skyscraper.

Unconsciously, you begin to shrink under his gaze.

“Yeah, why?” You shoot back, confused.

“Your hands are shaking.”

“ _Still_?” You whisper as you bring your hands to your face. This is bad.

“I… it must’ve been the incident from before.” You explain with a feeble laugh. The first laugh since you entered this place. Whether that’s good or not, you don’t really feel like finding out. “It’s not everyday that I cross paths with one of your kind.”

“One of our kind, huh…” Thatch reiterates slowly, trailing off and sending Marco a surreptitious glance. Not sneaky enough, though, but you’re not given time to examine what it means. “Well, how about a drink, then? It’ll help you relax.”

You want to accept the suggestion —really, you do—  but you can’t. You’re already well aware of what’s going on with your body, but you don’t want to deal with it right now. A headache and hand tremors… No, thank you, you’ll pass.

“I’m good.” You deny the offer as politely as remotely possible, still studying your hands. 

“You sure?” Thatch asks, and you give a quick nod, smiling tensely to appease him.

“It’s not like I don’t appreciate the offer.” You add afterwards, panic loosening your tongue, “It’s just… uh… I have bad history with…” Waving to the bottles that Haruta had pulled, you hope he grasps your meaning. He does, thankfully, and completely understands.

 “That’s ironic,” Haruta exclaims, knocking Thatch with his hip as he materializes out of nowhere. Thatch, not expecting the attack, stumbles to the side before catching himself with his foot. He glares at Haruta, the scar around his left eye, the one you’d seen back at the bar, scrunching up slightly. It is still as unnerving as before.

“Bad history with alcohol, yet I’m working in a bar… yeah, pretty ironic.” You agree with a sardonic smile, shrugging a little. “But, you gotta take what you can get, right?” Your voice is breezy, but your emotions are not in the same boat. You’re troubled by the fact that you’ve opened up the tiniest bit to these strangers, but it’s not like it could be helped. Thatch and Haruta aren’t judging you, you presume, so you’re able to breathe a little easier. Marco… well, he’s Marco. You can’t tell what’s going through his mind.

And it’s true. Your current job had not been your first choice, but you’d picked it over the library and the flower shop. No particular reason other than the pay was _much_ higher than other places you’d applied for, and you needed the money. You were paying for rent, food, and other utilities with no problems so far, so of course you weren’t going to quit because of some stupid discomfort.

Ultimately, you really _did_ take what you could get. It was only the way of life. A matter of survival.

After your question, things quieted down slightly between the four of you. You touched the handwork on your neck, surprised at the fact that you’d almost forgotten about it fully. The blond had done a good job… much better than what you would have done at home, anyway.

“Okay, seriously,” Haruta suddenly says, “ _Where_ is Ace?” He demands, hissing the man’s name with impatience akin to a moody teenager. _Is_ he a teenager? His appearance, in terms of features and overall height, practically screams it in your general direction, but you’re not sure. 

Thatch, torn from his little world of alcohol bottles and organization, answers with a dismissive gesture that nearly lands on Haruta’s face. You have a feeling it’s revenge for his previous hip-bump. “He said he had a problem. He’ll be here soon."

“Yeah, but it’s been an _hour._ ” Haruta insists, accentuating the last word with a string of curse words that are _definitely_ _not_ teenager-like.

Marco frowns beside you, dropping his gaze to the kit still sitting in front of him. He fiddles with the zipper holding it all together, eyes narrowed pensively.

“You can go complain to him when he gets here.” Izo grouses, words slurred slightly. Marco, picking up on the change in the man’s tone, shoves the kit aside and stares at him over your head. You shrink again under his gaze, even if it isn’t directed at you.

Worriedly, Marco calls the man in the kimono, who responds to his name with another grumble.

“You can’t keep drinking like that, Izo.” More disgruntled murmuring. Thankfully, Marco’s patience seems to be eternal.

Knowing he won’t be able to get through to the man, Marco jerks his head in Izo’s direction, a gesture meant to be seen by Thatch. Understanding this, Thatch breaks away from trying to calm Haruta down and moves to Izo’s side- er, front. He crosses his arms over the counter and leans down. Bringing his face closer to the intoxicated man, Thatch gently pries the drink from his fingers. Izo looks up, blinking his eyes at him before shaking his head with a scowl.

“Fine.” He agrees, intended for both Marco and Thatch, who smiles gently. Izo doesn’t return it. He turns so his back is facing you, and you can’t read his expressions anymore.

Without really knowing why, you worry about him, but Marco places a reassuring hand on your shoulder. _Thankfully,_ you noticed and did not fall off your stool.

“He’ll be okay.” He says, voice lowered so Izo won’t hear. You nod your head.

The blond withdraws, focusing on the kit and leaving you to your overly meaningful ruminations.

 _Well,_ is the first thing you think, then, _fuck._

It’s about as far as your deep thinking goes.

It’s to be expected, right? You don’t know what to make of the situation, since you’re not aware of _jack shit_ and aren’t allowed to pry. It’s the only normal thing about this whole situation.

Even so, there’s not much to ask about. Nothing that would help sate your curiosity. Nothing that would aid authorities, were you to end up in trouble.

Yes, you were still caught up in that. Stupid plan, dumber than anything you’ve done, but you wanted to play it safe. Unfortunately, Marco is, like previously mentioned, unreadable.

Tiredly, you nestle your cheek in your palm, which is propped up on the counter. Using this as a cover, you take in the blond beside you.

You don’t know what to think of him. You don’t know what to think of Ace. You don’t know what to think of half the people you’ve encountered this past… weeks? You don’t even know how long it’s been. Half of your days are spent with a tight ball of stress parked in your stomach. It makes it difficult to think.

Suddenly, the exceedingly thin tightrope of calm you’re standing on snaps in half when the door is thrown open at such speed it shakes the entire room.

The shift in atmosphere is instantaneous.

Before you can even entertain the idea of diving head first behind the bar -which would essentially break your entire _face_ \- Marco rises from his seat. He spins around, plants his body in front of you, and whips a gun from behind his back. You’re suffering from whiplash, so you aren’t able to witness how he manages such a feat in less than five seconds.

Unable to keep your mouth shut because _(name) why the hell aren’t you keeping your mouth shut_ , you blurt, “You had a _gun_?!”

Marco ignores you, but does twitch when you speak.

Beside you, Izo trails after the blond, though not far behind, as they both move at incredible speeds. He fishes out the pistol he’d pointed at your head and points it in the direction of the door, whirling in a flash of pink.

Everyone else follows his actions, knocking tables to the floor and using them as cover as they too brandish their weapons. Thatch and Haruta are behind you. Thatch, using the shotgun that he'd had hidden from sight, stands at the ready. You know because you can see the barrel of the gun from out the corner of your eye. Haruta has disappeared off to the side.

The last sound to be heard is your miserable squeak as you block your face with your arms, curling up slightly and screwing your eyes shut.

You’ve been making a lot of those sounds, you notice.

Then, silence. It sits heavy in the room, and there’s no clinking of bottles, no laughter, no chatting about parking lots and teenagers.

Sadly, with your view obstructed by the man in front of you, the only thing you can achieve right now is sit soundlessly. You’re so wound up the stool you’re on doesn’t bother squealing in protest.

Marco’s back is so wide that you can’t even lean over to peek _around_ him, and over him is also impossible because he’s a giant so… sitting is all you do.

Again, the door is pushed open, making a shrill sound that has you wincing. It hits the wall with a _wham_ and then shuts up.

Your heart thunders inside your ribcage, beating with so much strength your chest lurches with each palpitation. The pose you’re holding is putting a strain on your spine, especially since you’ve been shoved against the counter and pain is blooming there, but you’re too afraid to move. You’re barely breathing.

“ _Look, it’s fine, we’ve made it—_ ”

 _“Yeah, okay, but did you really have to—_ ”

“Ace?” Haruta’s hesitant whisper reaches your ears, and your head whips to the side. Haruta is crouched beside the bar, a pistol to his chest.

Okay, but _him?_

Marco shuffles, muscles taut underneath the blue sweater, and then lowers his gun somewhat. It _clacks_ as it is moved, and you flinch, Izo’s own pistol flashing through your mind for a second time. It throws you off balance, but you catch yourself with the edge of the bar, breathing picking up.

The voices outside grow in volume, and it’s with another lurch that you realize that, _yes_ , it’s him, but what the actual bloody fuck is he thinking? Why would he ram the door open and then stand outside? Why, why, _why?_

You were wishing for that magical moment where the person walks into the room and you can deduce why they would do the things they did, but you can’t.

Ace does walk in though, his footfalls cutting the quietude sharply. When he finally pokes his head through the door, he has to retreat immediately because someone _actually_ fires their gun.

“ _Izo!_ ” Thatch howls, ripping Izo’s gun out of his hands. Izo stands there numbly, facing the spot on the wall with a gaping hole in it. Smoke curled and writhed languidly from the bullet hole, dissipating seconds later.

 Being used to the smell, you hadn’t noticed it before, but he reeked of alcohol. Only a man with horrible things in his mind downed as many shots as he did.

Ace, eyes wide and hat lopsided from retreating so quickly, enters the pub, hands upturned in defeat. Izo growls a couple words, all of them incomprehensible, before marching right up to the younger male and smacking him upside the head. Marco relaxes, sort of, and then gently holsters his weapon. The fact that you pick up on his exhaustion from such a small gesture truly portrays just how drained he is.

Marco steps away from you, sitting down again while Izo and Ace bicker back and forth. Although, it merely looks like Izo is scolding Ace, who listens with a frown and wrinkles his nose at the same smell you’d detected. He makes a comment that you can’t pick over the noise of tables being put back in place, but it seems to quiet Izo down.

Izo hides his face in the palm of his hand, before walking back to the stool he’d occupied minutes ago and sitting down.  You watch, perplexed at the exchange, and fix your posture for the sake of being able to walk later.

Marco rises next, meeting Ace in the middle of the room and conversing quietly, face grim. Ace gesticulates as he talks, worry and shame mixing together in his voice. Meanwhile, you sit, out of the picture momentarily. It’s nice not being the centre of attention, but now you feel even more out of place. You feel as if you’ve witnessed an event that, well, you shouldn’t have.

And it is with another burst of emotion that you come to realize that, this is not the group of men you’d stumbled across at work.

Back then, they’d all appeared so calm, so confident, and so ready. Now, glancing at Izo, who’d fixed you with a glare for staring too long, looks like he’s about to pass out any second now. Looking at Thatch, who sits by the man in the kimono and rubs soothing circles into his back, you see a man who wants to be optimistic and _is._

Sensing your curious eyes, Thatch looks up from his continuous mumbling at Izo and almost sends you reeling when he smiles in dismissal. With nothing to say, you nod, mind struggling to understand just what the hell is going on.

It’s almost as if you’re here, but also standing outside with an impenetrable wall ahead.

It’s not normal. You’re not supposed to be here.

You place your hands on the counter again, seconds ticking by achingly slow as you stare down at your hands. You’re not even listening anymore.

And yet… what can you even do? You’re _stuck_ on this stupid stool with nowhere to go. You can’t flee to the back because you don’t know if there’s an exit waiting for you there, and the exit is being blocked.

You’re so busy thinking about possible escape plans that you don’t even bother listening to whatever is transpiring around you.

_“I’m sorry! I ran into some trouble and forgot—“_

_“Ace, it’s fine. You’re here now, and that’s what we need. But, what is he doing here?”_

_“Who, Sabo? We were—“_

And that’s all you heard before Ace’s eyes found you. Immediately, his eyebrows furrow in confusion, and then he’s mouthing something along the lines of _what is_ she _doing here?_ And, in actuality, it’s an excellent question. Now if only you were listening properly.

After another round of talking, the two of them stop at the sound of a door opening. Thatch crosses the threshold, wiping his hands and watching the two of them as they do the same. It’s only then everyone realizes Izo is gone.

“Where’s Izo?” Marco asks, facing Thatch. Thatch’s face turns serious out of concern.

“I took him to the back so he could rest.” He says with a voice that states _try and argue with me._

Marco doesn’t look bothered by the man’s absence, instead, he appears far less troubled. “Good. We can fill him in later.”

After that is said, Haruta runs up to Ace, acting much like he was before and whining about Ace’s tardiness. Ace apologizes profusely, nodding along to whatever Haruta is saying.

“Where were you, anyway?!” Haruta demands, though the anger you’d expected is replaced with worry. Ace struggles to explain, fiddling with the rim of his hat. He falls silent after his second attempt, regret apparent in his eyes.

“Well, whatever!” Thatch suddenly exclaims, returning to his due place behind the bar. “Just get in here— and bring your brother in while you’re at it, too.”

_I could try running outside while they’re all distracted. They’re here for a reason, a good one, so I could do that, right? Take my bags, run to my car, drive home. I could, right?_

Ace, relieved, does as he is told and drags an individual you have never in your life crossed once. But alas, you’re not paying attention.

 _Maybe I can act as if I’m getting fresh air and then book it to my car. I— wait, I_  do _have my car keys, right? Yeah, I do. I don’t know how, but I do. How the hell do I even— did Marco even return them?_

“Sorry about this, Thatch. We didn’t mean to cause you trouble.” A certain scarred blond smiles apologetically at the older man, who laughs loudly. He beckons them to come closer as he speaks, eyes bright with excitement.

“Bah! It’s alright. You’re part of the family, remember?”

“Heh, yeah.”

Ace grabs Sabo’s wrist before said man can even put one foot in front of the other. Ignoring Sabo’s questioning raise of the eyebrow, Ace nods his head towards you and makes a face of **_what_** _the heck is **she** doing here?!_

Sabo and everyone else follow soon enough, Sabo with some struggle, and then Marco sighs.

The taller blond mutters, “I’ll tell you later.” And then urges them to move to a table. Ace and Sabo do, although Ace looks like he wants to run over to you and ask a million questions.

“Who’s that?” Sabo whispers as they settle down, and they smile at Vista, who slides two drinks towards them.  It’s the older man’s way of accepting their apology, Ace knows, even if he didn’t seem disturbed in the slightest.

“That’s…” Ace, troubled, scratches the back of his head. “You know the girl I told you about?”

“ _That’s_  the ‘(name)’ you told me about?!” Without meaning to, Sabo raises his voice in surprise. “You don’t look happy to see her.” He grins.

“ _Shhhhhh_ —!” Ace quiets him down, eyes wide with panic. Sabo quiets down with a soft chuckle at his brother’s perturbation but comes to understand. Ace is already anxious with all that’s been going on, and after being late… he was going to beat himself up over it for a while.

At the sound of your name and the hasty _shhhHH_ that rose in volume despite its intentions, you perk up and scan the room for the person, separated from your strange thoughts.

(( _Maybe I should scream VIVA LA REVOLUCIÓN!, smash some beer bottles, and_ then _run?))_

Adjusting your body so you can get a proper look at whoever named you, you pause mid-move.

Just _who_ in the _fuck_ is _that_?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hnnnnghHH
> 
> I can't even begin to explain how much I've been wanting to write about the second bro in the trio of (read: cuties) bros.
> 
> Ah well, not much to say down here. I've said all I had to up at the top so...
> 
> Anyway, thank you for reading!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who's back. Back again. With another chapter that's like a month late. Yeah... I was planning on uploading this on February, but again, this semester has been KILLER. Like, not even joking right now lmao.But! To make up for my tardiness, I present to you the longest chapter I have ever written in my entire life. This time, it's uh... 20 pages, not just 17. So really long. Again.
> 
> Do you guys like the long chapters? I've been meaning to ask because, well, I know long chapters are fun. But I would like to hear what you guys think. Is it too long? Do you want them to be shorter? If so, do tell!
> 
> Uh... what else can I say... Just like last chapter, not a lot happens. There's a new character sort of introduced, and there's more mystery woven into the whole mess, but... yeah... You do move on from the bar to another location, though, so hopefully things pick up from there. I'll be editing this for a long while, seeing as it is the longest chapter ever. It's bound to be riddle with mistakes and other stuff, lmao, so please bear with me. I cringe as much as you do when I edit some of my things haha.
> 
> Aside from that, thank you everyone for 170+ kudos. Reading your responses makes me very happy, and the support is also so amazing I'm always left with a bit of shock haha. If you have any complaints or criticism for me, then drop it down in a comment below. I'm sorry that my stories are a bit slow. I'm pretty new to the whole story-telling business, which I don't think I've ever mentioned before. Best to do it now lol.
> 
> Well, that's all I have to say. Enjoy! 
> 
> You may now read on! 
> 
> [If you read these notes: thank you. Sorry for bombarding you with a crap ton of words.]

You gawked at him.

He stared back at you.

You blinked your (eye colour) eyes, slowly, in his direction.

The oddity paralleled your actions, although that hint of a smirk on his face suggested more than mystification. Mirth would be your well-educated presumption. His enormous hat heightened the strong shadows covering his eyes, making it difficult to truly decipher his expression.

Blinking a second time, you dropped your gaze to the floor, brought it back up to his face, then casually faced forwards again. All with a big ’fuck you’ to the universe for bestowing you with another nuisance, might you add.

Seriously, what had you done to deserve any of this? If you were to put some thought into it, you’d find that you were nothing but a university student juggling loans, rent, and work. You were a typical twenty-something-year-old with things to do and the budding urge to deck someone across the jaw in vexation.

But then, it wasn’t what you’d done. It was these louts poking their heads in every building, alley, club, bank— everywhere. It didn’t matter where you stalked off to, there’d always be someone there to fuck up your life by camping in your car or by pointing a gun at you.

_Fantastic, profound observations, (name). Now find an exit, stupid._

Releasing a hefty exhale, you allow your eyes to slip shut for a moment. No matter how hard you tried, you just weren’t getting out. Everyone with a fucking gun here had already established that leaving was not an option. You’d listed numerous ways that you could force your way out, but none seemed too inviting anymore. Not even the ‘VIVA LA REVOLUCIÓN!’ one.

This dampened your mood even further.

“You sure you don’t want a drink?” Thatch prompts with a grin that you want to slap off his face. Too bad you can’t reach it. ”You look like you need it.”

Honestly, you most likely did, but you weren’t about that life- especially in a place like this one.

”I’m alright,” You reply softly, eyebrows pinched as you debated whether you should hide or not. Perspiration collected in your palms as you pondered over the new individual. He had not made any moves, not yet, but you knew he had something in the back of his mind. A shudder glides up your spine, rendering your mind blank as you try to reboot. You could practically hear the Windows crashing sound in your brain as it fought to catch up with your anxiety.

 _I need to get out. I need to get out. Who is that_ _guy-_ _what is Ace doing_ _here-_ _where would I_ _go-_ _where was my car—_

Clearing your throat, you twist your hands, rest them on the counter, and clamp them together. The sweat is making them sticky, but you don’t bother wiping them on your jeans. There’s no point when they’re going to continue being gross

You want to think something that will appease your fear, but there’s really nothing that could do that for you. Marco’s here, and that’s grand, but who knows how far-reaching his thoughtfulness for a person he’s met twice is. Ace, he’s the opposite of elated, and everyone else has a gun so…

Yeah… you’re really feeling the optimism.

Marco, back in his stool, has his eyes closed with his hands splayed in front of him. There’s a crinkle in his brow that screens the fact that he’s thinking hard about… whatever he thinks about. You don’t know what he’s planning or thinking and never will.

There’s a stable murmur behind you as people share their thoughts among one another quietly. Haruta has glued himself to Ace, who you hear chatting with blondie numero dos in a hushed voice. You find him… peculiar because, well, you haven’t stumbled upon anyone that wears a top hat that big in your life. He’s also sporting an outfit that you can’t see properly from your place, but you can tell that it’s not what you’d see every day. Not away from home in the streets, at a club, a mall. Not even at Wal-Mart.

Marco whispers something, opens his eyes, and turns to gaze at you. It seems like he’s mulling over what to do with you now that Ace barrelled into the place. You wait for him to tell you that you’re their prisoner and that you can’t leave. Those words never come.

Instead, he cranes his head to glance at the people conversing at the nearby table, then to Thatch. Said man merely raises an eyebrow, and Marco heaves a sigh in response. In the end, all you can wonder is what these two are saying as they communicate through their brows.

After what feels like an eternity, Marco arrives at a conclusion and focuses on you again. His eyes hold a seriousness that your expression can’t help but match in fear.

“We have to go… over there.” He says simply, unsure of how to word his next few phrases. If he’s trying to get you to leave by putting things nice and light… well, you might as well stop him. You’ve been planning to do that for the entirety of your stay! What a surprise.

“Think you can stay here for a bit?”

Okay, so  _maybe_   _not_  leaving. He just wants you to remain where you are. It’s almost like he’s afraid to leave you alone. Like he’s telling his toddler to stay put and be good or the big, bad gang members will shove a gun in their face. There’s a high chance it would happen. That is why you agree to sit tight and assure him that you’re okay when you’d much rather go home. The last part shrivels up and dies, never heard by the world.

 Marco, content with your carefully picked words, rises from his seat and motions Thatch to follow. Thatch drops his task of wiping glasses and bounds after him, a small grin on his face.

Your fix your eyes on the pair as they strut to the table, fidgeting with your sleeves. You’d removed your jacket, as the temperature here was hotter than outside, and laid it across your lap. Despite your efforts to cool down though, it still didn’t prevent the nervous sweat that broke out on your skin.

Now that you’re alone, you try your hardest to block every minuscule noise. You need to revise what’s going on with your body. You need to formulate a plan, because before, you were only seeing the tip of the iceberg. Now you’re seeing the sheer size of this whole thing and you did not like it. And sure, icebergs were beautiful beneath the rippling surface of the water, but  _holy shit_  was this one a mess.

When everything around you fuses together into white noise, you fish your phone out from your back pocket. You don’t even know what you should do with it anymore. Your initial plan, back when Ace was in your apartment, was to collect information and report it to the police. But now, it was so late that claiming that you’re but a bystander would make no difference. They’d ask you why you hadn’t taken action sooner. If you told them that you’d housed criminals and played nanny, they’d ask you why you didn’t call. You could tell them that Ace stole your phone, but you’d gotten it back and had the privacy of your room, and he doesn’t have super human hearing.

With the little machine in your hands, you stare at the void pit replacing what once was a mountain of options. The black screen reflects back your own face and failures.

You lay your phone on the counter face down, making sure that it doesn’t make any noise. Staring at it solemnly, your mind continues running on the little energy you have.

If only you’d been smarter. You could’ve crawled from this chaos with something as undemanding as a few questions from a police officer. Were you to flee to the authorities at this point in time… things would not look promising in the future. You’d be expelled from your university, and all that studying, all the things you’d witnessed while slogging towards your goal as a crime investigator… it would all go to shit.

They’d dug your grave, but you’d sealed your own coffin.

_Fuck my life._

But still, there was hope for your situation. Your funeral could still be postponed indeterminately. If you just play it safe, if you think each move meticulously, you might survive.

So, that means… no more police. No more hoping for help from those people because help, to you, isn’t being tossed in a cell. That’s not even the last thing on your to-do list. You’d have to do things on your own, with, hopefully, _some_ help from the only person you can trust.

Ally and you were close. You’d let her hang out at your place when you could actually see the floor, but… you didn’t want to cause her any trouble.

You could try talking to her, though. That’d aid you in your quest to serenity, wouldn’t it? 

Seizing your phone, you unlock it and open the messaging app. Eyes befalling the top of the screen, you see that the last person you texted is none other but Ace. Scrolling past it, you tap Ally’s name and watch as your previous conversations pop up. Most are about what shifts you and the blonde can exchange, but there are more casual ones.

Typing a couple of letters, you send her the first word that your brain presents you with.

 _Hey_ , the text reads. It’s laid-back… and perhaps a bit too serious. Should you send another one? If you add an exclamation point, will that sound too excited? You don’t feel like acting like you’re doing fine now. What if she’s not even available?

No matter. There’s a notification and you’re reading it without a second thought.

**_Ally 1:56PM_ **

_Hey, (name). What’s up?_

**_XXX-XXX-XXXX_ ** **_1:57PM_ **

_Nothing much… how about you?_

**_Ally 1:58PM_ **

_Meh_ _, same. Studying for an exam that I_ _have next week_ _._

Crap. You hadn’t meant to bother her. When you relay your thoughts to her, she sends an emoji and another reply dismissing your apology.

_It’s okay, (name). Is there something you wanna talk about?_

Okay, here you go. You can tell her a little on your predicament. A _tiny_ portion of information shouldn’t hurt. The trouble in this now is wording it correctly.

 **_XXX-XXX-XXXX_ ** **_2:01PM_ **

_Uh… well… I’m at a bar._

_And I’m sort of stuck here._

**_Ally 2:02PM_ **

_Stuck?_

_lmao_ _you mean you’ve met somebody and need help because you don’t know how to talk to them?_

 **_XXX-XXX-XXXX_ ** **_2:03PM_ **

_No_

**_Ally 2:04PM_ **

_And you need help because you wanna have some fun ;D_

God, no.        

Okay, wrong start to the conversation. You want to try again, but this woman won’t let you live it down no matter what.

 **_XXX-XXX-XXXX_ ** **_2:05PM_ **

_Ally, no._

Should you just roll with it? Clearly, there’s no hope for you, and trying to talk to anyone about this without providing truthful information is too difficult. Your brain’s fried. 

_Ah crap, they’re coming back._

_Gtg, see ya!_

Ally sends you one last winking emoji and you close the app, rubbing your eyes with a miffed sigh. You suck at socializing, and now that you’re hauling like fifty-five different problems, you don’t know how to talk about them.

Thrown off focus, the sounds around you swing back into hearing-range louder than before. The group of men at the table is still speaking avidly, but none appear too radiant. Some have buried their faces in their hands and some are drawing plans on the table with their fingers. There are a few stray voices attempting to butt in, but they either go unheard are begin another round of rushed murmuring.

What is most shocking though, is that the man with the top-hat has gone  _poof._  Like some sort of stereotypical magician with nothing better to do.

But not poof as in he’s disappeared from the room. Poof as in, he’s right behind you and you just fucking noticed him and  _holy shit he’s fucking tall._

Needless to say, you succeed in restraining a horrified shriek, with obvious torment.

_Okay, fuck, another one. Stay calm, (name), stay calm._

Shifting in your stool, you peer down at your phone, then back at him with the look of  _this is really awkward please leave before I combust and we have to call an ambulance._

“How… long… have you been there…?” You manage in a meek tone, pointing to the place he’s standing. The blond blinks several times, like you’d done when you’d first spotted him, then smiles pleasantly.

“My apologies, did I scare you?”  _No. You almost made me combust, though. Does_ that _fucking count?_

“Ye- no! No, I’m… fine.” You cursed your stammering and nerves. It was like pulling up a PowerPoint presentation and dully admitting that  _fuck, you did scare me, you **shit**._

Goddamn it. How could people even handle being beside one of these ninjas.

The man chuckles gently at your response before seating himself beside you despite the number of free stools. You shuffle, rolling your shoulders and studying the shelves crammed with liquor. It’s enough to have your mind reeling back to your job. That place was unruly, but it was nothing compared when you put it side by side with  _this_.

You itched to do more than just sit around, but creeping behind the bar to mix up a couple drinks when Thatch was here… probably not the best idea. It didn’t matter who it was, actually. They’d _all_ toss a fit if they noticed.

“Why are you here?” You ask quietly, not knowing what else to blurt.

The blond points to the table, where everyone is listening to Marco as he speaks, but you can’t make out anything they’re saying.

“I’m not part of their group.” He explains, and you press two fingers to your temples, massaging them. Then, you scratch the side of your neck, nodding. What- then _why_? _Why is he here?_ That answer doesn’t give away anything!

“Right.”

Silence.

It’s tense, and you’re aware of the fact that you’re assessing each other. Both for different reasons, but still. You turn on your phone and unlock it, swiping through Ally’s conversation before closing it down. The stiffness in your shoulders can be perceived with ease on the screen.

In a means of escaping the awkward quietude, you hop off your stool. With a fleeting look at Thatch, you inch behind the bar as discreetly as possible. Some people seem to notice, but they’re hooked back into the conversation before they can point you out to the man with the pompadour.

The man on the stool watches your actions amusedly, a smirk illuminating his features. He’s in no hurry to stop you, which is… strange. If you were him, you would’ve ordered yourself to stop fooling around. Who knows, he might end up with part of the blame if you find yourself in trouble.

Now that you’re closer, you can make out the blue eyes and the scar that surrounds the left one. The skin is pinkish in colour, and with the darkness, it makes the blue of his eyes stand out ominously. He has a strong, angular face with sharp features that not a lot of people you’ve met have.

He’s also wearing that outfit that, yes, you never thought you’d see outside. The long black coat he wore made the dark blue shirt he sported underneath stand out. Around his neck, a white cravat sat snug, hugging it. You couldn’t really see below his middle, as he was sitting and the counter was in the way. Plus, you didn’t want to stare for too long.

Turning in the direction of the shelf, you scrutinize the bottles. There’s nothing there that piques your interest. Not that you were going to chug down a bottle of alcohol. You just didn’t want to sit beside any more scary individuals that are well over six feet tall.

Reverting back to waitress mode, you glance furtively at the blond, and then ask, “Want anything?”

If he’s surprised by your sudden question and amiability he excels at hiding it. The man shrugs his shoulders and nods slowly. “Why not,”

Nodding yourself, you scan the shelf one last time. You’re good at this game, if you’re honest. Some people back at your workplace have no idea what they want, so they leave you with the task of coming up with something for them. This guy is obviously someone fancy, so you cross off the most common drinks off your list.

When you look up, at the very back of the tallest shelf, a bottle of Prosecco is partially hidden from view. Reaching for it, your fingers curl around the neck of the flask, and you bring it to your chest. You read the label and note its price and date. The drink is… decent. It’s basically an alternative to champagne, which is too expensive, in your humble opinion.

You put the bottle on the counter, where your company eyes it with mild interest. Aside from that, he says nothing on your decision. It has dread and slight trepidation roiling in your stomach, but you shake it off with a sniffle. Bending down, you search the shelves beneath the counter, pointedly ignoring the shotgun there. Then, straightening up, reveal a flute glass to him and a corkscrew. Why those two things were there, you’re not going to ask.

With apparent skill, you uncork the bottle, covering it with your hand so the sound is muted. Another swift glance at Thatch tells you that no, he hasn’t heard you. Nobody has. They’re too preoccupied with their meeting, which you can now hear small bits from.

 _“How long has it been?_ How long _? And we still haven’t got him?”_

_“We’re doing everything we can to gather information and you know that so will you just please-”_

_“I don’t **care**!”_ The man slams his enormous fist on the table, and you recoil visibly. The people surrounding him lift their hands to pacify him. You wish you were that easy to appease. It would be a miracle for you.

Blondie numero dos, bizarrely, arches an eyebrow in your direction, and you respond by pouring him the prosecco. There’s no point in explaining why you reacted the way you did.

And whether that was a hint of concern in his eyes or if you were that tired you don’t know, so you opt for the latter.

“And a prosecco for the sir that scared me nearly half to death…” You mumble without meaning to. You’re so accustomed to announcing what you’re serving that whatever is in your head ghosts past your lips, uninhibited.

When your gaze flits to his face to gauge his reaction, you almost drop the bottle. He’s smiling, fully, and laughing at your words. Funnily enough, red has bloomed on his cheeks while chortling. The sound carries through the room, bouncing off the walls; he clears his throat and puts on the collected individual act. Your lips split into a small, hesitant grin.

“What’s your name?” You inquire interestedly, sealing the bottle and putting it aside. So far, this guy doesn’t look like he’s going to kill you.

“Sabo,” He replies, picking up the glass with gloved fingers. “Yours?”

You pause, narrowing your eyes at him. There’s a gleam in his that’s been rekindled, and with an internal huff, you state: “You know my name, don’t you?”

Caught in the act, Sabo chuckles again and sips on his drink. “Yes, I do. You’re (name). My brother’s told me about you.”

_Uh… Whomst?_

“Your brother?” You ask suddenly, curious as your eyes bounce from one person to the next. You thought his brother would be easy to find, since they probably look alike, but aside from Marco, you don’t see any other blond. “Is he here with you?”

Sabo gently slides his hat off his head, where he ruffles his hair. He places it on the wooden surface separating you two and grins mischievously.

“He’s the one that nearly got his head blown off.”

At this new tidbit of knowledge, you perk up, (eye colour) eyes fluttering. “… _Ace?_ ”

Sabo nods, swallowing another sip, eyes glittering in the amber glow of the bar. You slide the bottle to the side. The need to smash it against your head and knocking yourself out is strong in this one.

“So… you’re brothers…” _Okay. Marvelous._

“Indeed.” He agrees, on the verge of letting another bout of laughter loose. You really hadn’t been aware of anything, then.

“Neat, well, I think I’m gonna…” You distance yourself from him, unsure of how to finish your sentence. Thankfully, you don’t have to, because someone else is calling your name. Or your ‘nickname’, really.

“Oi! Bar girl!” Thatch hollers, using his hands as a cheap megaphone. You flinch at the sheer volume and strength, and, with your shoulders bunched, avert your gaze to him. His eyes have formed two slits and he’s pointing an accusing finger at you. Waiting for him to yell at you, you cling to your shirt, thumbing the fabric nervously.

“Make yourself useful and bring us some drinks!” What was supposed to be a terrifying order loses its effect because he cackles at your look. You must’ve looked like some tiny little rabbit, cowering in the corner and hiding from the wolf. With how he was grinning, you’d assign him that role immediately.

Shuddering and sighing, you decided that it’s about time you raise your voice a little. You doubt that they’ll hear you if you speak like you’ve been doing for the past hour.

“What-” You rub your neck and try again, striving to keep your voice level, “What do you want?”

“I don’t know! But you can come up with something, right?”

You roll your eyes so much they nearly travel to another dimension. Waving your hand, you let them all know you heard.

Again, you were good at this game. But…

“Did you end up liking the Prosecco?” You ask Sabo, grasping the bottle and placing it on the shelf. Sabo nods his head, blond locks dancing along with his enthusiastic movements.

“Very much so,” He responds, the flute that once contained the liquor now drained fully. You can’t help but smile at the sincerity of his tone. This man, with his fancy outfit and demeanor, is satisfied with your choice. You’re pleased and comforted enough that you select a variety of drinks for every other person.

They’re all different. One is an older, muscular man, with a bald spot on his head. Replacing that path of hair is a scar that runs across his face. It’s long, and curves down to meet the area between his eyebrows. A lit cigarette sits between his scowling lips. His hair and moustache are black in hue. He’s the man that banged his fist on the table. Vodka or rum would be your guess for him.

Besides him resides another man the size of a building. He’s the one that knocked over the table before and beckoned people to take cover when Ace appeared. He looks like a scarier, much buffer version of El Zorro, excluding the bandana sort of mask thing. And there’s a top-hat too… and a lot of different colours… and, well, maybe the comparison is a bit weird.

Haruta is fit tightly to Ace still, his face a mixture of exasperation, anger, and stress. He elevates his hand and brings it closer to Ace’s neck, but then brings it down. Almost like he thought twice about strangling him.

Marco presses his fingers together, still talking it up with the club. He’s seated at the head of the table, where everyone can watch as he speaks calmly, slowly, making sure everyone understands. Several individuals nod their heads in approval, while others have a wrinkle in their brow that signals the polar opposite.

Out of nowhere, the door closest to the bar, where Thatch had emerged from, opens. The door creaks in protest, but is ignored by the man that exits the room with a sour visage.

Izo saunters over to the empty seat closest to Marco and slumps down heavily. There’s a weight on his shoulders that has them drooping, but it doesn’t stop him from straightening up a second later. He fixes his kimono and hair, and then acts like he’s been there the whole time.

You’re not sure you should serve him. After all, he was drinking like crazy before. It wouldn’t be wise of him to down any more alcohol.

Seeing this as the most optimal way to approach this game, you face the shelves. There has to be beer or vodka here; something strong for the scary men with the scar and top-hat.

Tip-toeing closer, you grasp a few bottles and read the labels. There’s vodka and two beer bottles, which is good. Grabbing large mugs from where you grabbed the flute, you pour each of them one of the drinks.

For Haruta, you choose a lighter drink. Down a shelf there’s a bottle of red wine, so you pick that and pour it in another glass.

And for the rest excluding Izo, you concoct what you served them the first time you set your eyes on them.

You have some of the ingredients within reach, but you’re missing some, which is… troubling. Glancing around the area, you search for what you need but to no avail. They’re not here, and you’re at a loss of how to proceed.

“The ingredients might be back there.” A voice pipes up, and you realize that Sabo is still sitting there. He’s pointing to the same door Izo opened. “Do you need me to go look?”

You stare at it for a long time, weighing your options. Going back there to gather what you need would be nice, but this is isn’t your workplace. Everything is different from what you’re used to here.

But, if you don’t go… well… you’d be serving really boring drinks for everyone.

_Ugh, fine._

“Thanks, but I’m good.” You reply.

And so you run back there, mindful of every pair of eyes, and get what you need.

You return in record time, breath erratic because of how overwrought you felt.

Placing everything on the counter, you list your ingredients off and are set to work. Time slows as you collect glasses for the drinks, each of different sizes, and brew your little masterpieces.

The margaritas, mojito, and royal fuck all materialize in a matter of minutes. Finally, you’re ready to serve. There are no trays, so you carry two drinks in both hands and rush to the table. Marco’s words are cut off for a mere second as he processes what you place in front of him. Then everything returns back to him and he sends you a small, grateful smile.

Thatch is much more fervent about your arrival, reaching out for his drink and sighing in satisfaction after a big gulp. Haruta is also mildly shocked, but plays it off coolly and accepts your offering.

A bit more nervous, you near the broad-shouldered man with the top-hat and present him his drink. He’s suspicious of you, that much you know, but he deems it fine to drink and takes it. When he sets it down, you rush to the other three drinks and gift them to their rightful owners. You repeat the same routine with the other heavily built man.

“You alright?” Sabo probes jokingly as you sit down on a stool. You brush some stray hairs back and sigh, hoping that it’s an adequate answer. Apparently, it is.

“I never want to do that again.” You mumble, heedless of the consequences of your words. You’re so tired right now.

Still, it doesn’t keep your mind from wandering because… you’d heard some things. Marco halted his constant stream of words to acknowledge your presence, but then carried on as you walked away.

_“He has to die.”_

Holy _shit_ , right? Right.

It was like somebody dumped a bucket of ice down your shirt. Tremors racked your body as you briefly paused, before carrying on. You couldn’t let them know that you’d overheard.

If it’d been anyone else, you probably wouldn’t have been so shocked, but… fuck, man. It was difficult to picture Marco killing someone even if he’s probably done so, and hundreds of times.

Suppressing a shudder, you nestle your chin in your arms, closing your eyes.

 _Who_ has to die? Was it Morgan? It was definitely that man.

But… he was so innocent? Or at least acted like it?

Whenever he came in, he’d sit at the bar, quietly, and listened to you and Ally banter. Sometimes, he’d be on his phone, but never missed a beat when you both greeted him kindly. You remember the round glasses perched on his nose that would slip down often; the benevolent beam that he would share when you put a drink in front of him.

_Fuck._

I mean, sure, they can mind and deal with their own business, but… him?

You scrunch your eyes, then open them. You’ve had plenty of time to think.

You have to leave.

Snatching your coat off the floor, where your bags also are, you throw it on.

“Are you heading somewhere?” Sabo shoots you another question, one you have trouble answering. Thankfully, as if on cue, chairs glide across floorboards and creak as people stand. Both you and Sabo swivel around to verify what’s happening.

The meeting's finished. Everyone’s tucking their chairs in and asking last minute questions. Some have paired up and are now filtering outside together. It is then you finally get to deduce just how late in the afternoon it is, now that the door is ajar.

It’s late, quite late, but the sun hasn’t fully set so you still have some daylight to light your way.

Steeling your nerves, you search for blondie numero uno and spot him with Ace. Marching over there swiftly, you wait for them to notice you. Marco does, and with a quick hand gesture, halts the conversation. You don’t wait for him to speak.

“I have to leave. Now.” You declare, heart thumping in your ribcage. There’s no knowing what he’s going to say.

The blond blinks, his gaze snapping to Ace, then back to you.  “Alright,”

_Thank GOD._

Your shoulders slump in relief, and, with a quick glance at Ace, you spin around and gather your things. You grip your bags, utilizing the crook of your arm as a hook, and bid Sabo farewell. He smiles amicably and bows his head.

“Can she really go out there by herself?”

 Oh, _come_ on.

 You face the source of the question, which turns out to be Ace. Deadpanning, you wait for him to take everything he said back and leave you alone. Yes, you can stroll through the city on your own. If you hurry, and if the sun is merciful, you can reach the safety of your abode in little time.

 “Yes, yes I can.” You answer his question, but he and Marco aren’t convinced.

 “We’ve been here for a long time…” Marco muses, and guilt washes over Ace’s face for a split second. “Are you sure you weren’t followed?”

 “Yes. Sabo and I made sure.”

 At the mention of his name, Sabo steps forward from wherever the hell he was hiding from (behind you). He nods to affirm their actions. Meanwhile, you adjust your bags and count your items as a way to calm down.

 “They’ve been getting bolder, Marco.” Ace insists, frowning at his elder. He points to the world out there, where danger lurks in the shadows and churns up trouble. His bright eyes are full of worry. For who, you can’t be sure. Probably for everyone besides you.

“You _saw_ what they did to Izo’s men.”

 Marco’s eyebrow twitches at the reminder of what is an obvious torment. His eyes flash, and the serenity dancing inside them falters. Sabo lingers, torn between speaking up and keeping his mouth shut.

 Ace’s shoulders are drawn back. He’s ready for whatever Marco has in mind, but he’s still fearful of what he’ll say. After mucking it up not once, but twice…

 At last, Marco exhales deeply and meets your eye, pleading.

Clicking your tongue, you too inhale and exhale your vexation, before finally consenting to having an escort… of sorts.

“Fine, okay.” You relent, waving a hand frivolously. “So, who’s joining me?”

The two in question give each other a secretive glance, as if babysitting you is awful. Sure brings back memories, doesn’t it?

“We’ve already established how we were going to leave.” Marco pronounces, and Ace nods to let him know he’s aware.

“Us two, then?” He offers, and Marco utters a noise of assertion.

 “Okay, both of you then. Great. Anyone else wanna tag along?” You voice impatiently, the darkness outside steadily smothering all signs of sunlight. Shadows expand, and there’s less noise outside than there was minutes ago. The sputtering of a vehicle reaches your ears, but that too fades into the silence.

_Just great. If it weren’t for my stupid ass, I could’ve driven away hours ago._

 “Sabo?” Ace prompts.

 “You sure? I mean-”

“Not leaving you alone, not tonight. Sorry.”

“…Alright, then.”

Now that there’s a plan at hand, everyone looks to Marco to set it in motion. He extends a hand to you, and your mind yells at you to shake it before you realize. The keys.

Still too scared to argue with him, you begrudgingly hand him the requested item, juggling your bags in the midst of the action. You grumble as you slip past him, shoulders a hair’s width from brushing.

“Let’s- Let’s just go?” You grasp the handle of the door, lips curling downwards, and throw it open. You’re so caught up in not freezing in fear that you don’t hear their responses.  Just move on, (name). You’ve got things to do.

And so you do.

Your car enters your line of vision the second you round the corner of the building. Free from the gloom’s embrace, you suck in as much as air as your lungs will welcome. The safe house/bar was warm and cozy if you disregarded the tremendous dread you were feeling. But, after an hour, the first signs of discomfort began sprouting. Hot, stuffy… just like your own workplace.

You bound over to your car, fighting the urge to kiss the damn thing. You’re going to go home! Honestly, you’re not one hundred percent sure you’ll be able to sweep this day under the rug, but… well, home is home and you want to go there.

You pile into the car, taking up the co-pilot’s seat after depositing your bags in the trunk. Marco mans the wheel, while the other two occupy the backseats. Tugging your seatbelt on, you wait for the blond to bring the vehicle to life so you can guide him.

“(name),” Marco calls out of the blue, and you stare him in the eyes. “We can’t go straight to your apartment. We’re going to take another route.”

Oh, well, that’s… totally not excellent but you’re not one to argue.

“So… which way are we going?”

“You’ll see.” He responds vaguely, starting up the car. The Chevrolet quietly rumbles to life, the low growl of the engine drowning out your worries. If this weren’t your car, you would’ve exited the car already.

Everyone is silent while Marco drives out of the small street. The sight of the building concealing the safe house is obstructed after a quick turn. Your car swerves into a wider road, rumbling down a street that you don’t recognize.

Marco follows this road for a long while, so long that you’re a bit bored by the end of it. Sabo and Ace are whispering to one another in the back, but you don’t catch anything. Not like you really want to.

When the car veers again, you free your phone of its confines in your pocket. The brightness of the screen has you squinting as you unlock it. Once done, you note a notification that you’ve missed. It’s from ten minutes ago.

At first, you believe it’s Ally asking how your experience at the bar with the stranger went.

Then you see the number.

_What the fuck?_

Poking the screen, you open the messaging app for the second time this evening.

The text is not what you would’ve expected.

**_Ace 5:44PM_ **

Wait, hold up. Two things: him? Second thing, had it really been that long?! How long were you in there for? There was a lack of windows in that bar, for reasons that aren’t hard to deduce, but… that long?

Anyway, time to see what he wants.

**_Ace 5:44PM_ **

_Ace, u forgot ur phone!!_

**_Ace 5:47PM_ **

_ace_

_u forgot ur phone!_

_Oh wait_

Uh…

You peek at the man in the question over your shoulder, who is still murmuring avidly to his brother. Furrowing your eyebrows, you check your phone and then fix him with another look. The third one doesn’t go unnoticed.

 Jabbing Sabo’s leg, he sits up and regards you suspiciously. “What?”

“Nothing, nothing…”

Just… who in the fuck?

At this point, you’re not even paying attention to the twists Marco makes. You also don’t pay attention to the fact the place couldn’t be any shadier, too busy with your phone.

Ace is here, and he’s talking to Sabo…

Who the fuck is this person?

Should you even text them back?

RING.

Your phone goes off and you struggle to deaden the noise. Marco casts you a quick glance, and there’s a two second halt in the back that unnerves you. Puffing out your cheeks, you stuff your phone in your lap and await the moment the conversation fills the silence. There’s an embarrassing shade of red creeping up to your cheeks and bottom of your ears.

When the stream of words gradually returns, you press the power button and gape at the screen incredulously.

**_Ace 5:58PM_ **

_wait_

_this isn’t even the right number!!_

_who are you?!_

Oof, you’ve been discovered. Houston, you have a problem. Someone get the police.

**_XXX-XXX-XXXX 6:00PM_ **

_I’m… a friend… of Ace’s?_

**_Ace 6:01PM_ **

_ohhhhhhhhhhh!_

_but.  i don’t know you?_

**_XXX-XXX-XXXX 6:01PM_ **

_I’m a recent friend of Ace’s._

**_Ace 6:02PM_ **

_ohh ok!! What’s ur name?_

_mine’s Monkey D. Luffy!_

Did your dear friend and pal Ace not have you saved as a contact? You would say that’s rude but… Rude. Not really. It’s not like you talk to each other outside of this… disarray.

_**XXX-XXX-XXXX 6:03PM** _

_Oh, um, I’m (name). It’s nice to meet you, Luffy._

_**Ace 6:03PM** _

:DDDD

_oh right! can u tell ace he forgot his phone?_

You dispatch a brisk, confirmatory reply, to which he thanks you for, and then turn off your phone again. If it weren’t for Ace being too preoccupied, you might’ve. You might’ve informed him of his predicament.

But alas, you’re only capable of so much.

Not like you don’t want to or anything, but if his reaction to you looking at him is anything to go by… you don’t want to take too many chances.

You insert your phone into its pocket and frown at the scenery. The buildings, aged and weather-worn, loom above your vehicle. They almost lean closer to the Chevrolet, shedding their shadows on top of you. With more effort, you notice the cracked windows and peeling paint on the sides. Some are lit up, some flicker, and at one point a pair of curtains is drawn back.

 _This is fine_. You think, and an odd, yellow dog agrees as it smothers a flame on the tip of its hat.

Gravel crunches under the wheels as the car thunders down the street. Streets lamps guide the way with their dim beams of wan light. You hope that the headlights you’re equipped with are enough to avoid potholes. You don’t have a replacement if a wheel does give out on you. That would be too much.

When you pass another beaten structure with a discoloured sign, you rally whatever bravery you can.

“Marco,” You _whisper_. Way to go. “Where are we?” A shiver slides down your spine and you tense. You don’t receive a reply for a short while, which kindly makes you want to jump out the car and _die_.

“In one of the few abandoned parts of the city,” He says, and the car swerves onto the side of the road, the wheels close to colliding with the sidewalk. The headlights shine on a few rats and with a hiss, the animals scurry to the nearest sewer. There’s a resounding _clang_ from somewhere ahead, and you cling to your jacket. Your heart’s fluttering is not helping in the slightest.

“Uh-huh…” You nod, watching the fleeing animals, then face him. “ _Why_.”

The car’s lights abruptly die on you, shrouding everything in front back in darkness. With a start, you realize that the car’s been turned off and that you’re in the middle of bloody nowhere.

Also, abandoned part of the city? How had you not heard of this? You would’ve expected some sort of news channel to warn people about this place.

“Because it’s the only way we’re getting you home.” He finishes with an airy exhale, which ends that flow of conversation. You gape at him disbelievingly.

“But-” You point in the direction you came, “My apartment’s that way? You went the wrong way from the start?” _No, no, no, no, no- Marco, why?! You were supposed to be the helpful one!!_

“No, I did not.” He states, and you clamp your mouth shut. No _fucking_ way.

The blond, now ten times more terrifying in the darkness, makes eye contact with your own. In the darkness, the blue of his irises has become a murky, void colour. You can’t even pinpoint where the pupil is.

“(name),” Your shoulders bunch up at the grimness in his tone. “We have to be quick. Stay close.” Oh, no. 

Your head swivels so fast your neck pops. Gazing into the gloom, you shake your head, your reflection mirroring your movements. You feel nauseous. Inside your stomach, fear and anxiety fester, branching to multiple parts of your body. It feels like your fingers have a thin sheen of ice covering them; they’re so cold.

Your limbs have begun to tremble, your hands suffering from the worse tremors. You struggle to keep your breathing even, the air almost burning your throat and lungs as you respire. It’s a miracle your eyes haven’t popped out of their sockets yet.

“No fucking way. Marco, I swear to fucking God.”

“(name),” Sabo, who you’d all but forgotten about, calls from behind you. He rests a large hand on the seat, fingers millimeters from your shoulder. “You’re going to be fine. We’ll keep you safe.”

Safe? _Safe?!_

No. Just no.

“Being safe is not going out there so I can die, Goldilocks.”

Bloody _hell_ , you weren’t supposed to say that.

“…”

Your words echo in the car, and you hear Sabo’s fingers slip from the seat. They disappear from your peripheral vision, and you scrunch up your eyes, lips a taut line. Why did you have to open your mouth?!

Then you hear a snort.

After a little bit, you hear a breathy chuckle, which escalates to full-blown hoots of exuberant laughter. The person cackling is Ace, who hasn’t smiled for the longest time after arriving late. He keeps going, clutching his sides as he drops his head. His hat nearly tumbles off his head, as if it too was having a good ol' time laughing at yours and Sabo's predicament.

Sabo’s cheeks heat up at the sound, eyebrows pinching together in distress. “Don’t _laugh_ , you!”

Unfortunately for the blond, his brother's peals of choked laughter carry on. Forced to punch Ace in the shoulder, Sabo halts his next round of amused sounds with another complaint. A sigh from your side reaches your ears when the silence crashes over you all.

Sabo huffs indignantly, and you’re surprised he hasn’t socked you in the shoulder yet for insulting him like that.

Unable to handle the second-hand embarrassment for your words, you blurt, “You know what, going outside sounds lovely.” Then undo the lock on the doors and climb into the frigid, night air. You’re grateful for your bulky jacket.

Popping the trunk, you extract your items and close the back of your vehicle. Patting it, you think for a second.

“So, if we’re not driving, what the hell are you going to do with my car?” You begin, circling the vehicle and to Marco. His eyes are still the same colour as before, but this is important to you. “I need it for work, you know.”

Marco shushes you gently, eagle-like eyes surveying the buildings and area. “We’ll bring it to you. If not me, someone else.”

Oh, _great_.

Scoffing to yourself, you glare at his retreating form as he crosses the street. Sabo and Ace sidle up to you, sandwiching you and sparing you quick looks.

“You ready?” Ace fixes you with a stare you wish you could copy. It’s calm, serious, and ready. Even so, you can clearly see the friendliness that you witnessed at your apartment when he introduced himself. He’s been rejuvenated by the bountiful of chuckles from before. Instead, you look ahead, where Marco is waiting for you three with his arms crossed.

“Let’s just go.” You mumble and heft your bags up higher on your arms. You’re so fucking tired of today, it’s not even funny anymore. The two men accompany you as you trudge onwards, closing the distance between Marco and you. You reach the sidewalk across the street and look up at the buildings. The way they've been built makes them look like there's a piece missing right in the middle. It's a dark alleyway, but not so much that you can't see the when it ends.   
  
You  _wish_ you couldn't see what was at the end of it, though. 

There's a door there, old and rusty and ready to swallow you and whatever fragments of your composure you have left. Graffitti joins the eerie picture, letters squashed and colourful, so much that you can barely ready them. There are symbols that have been scraped off over time, but there is a faint skull there that you think you recognize.

“Now,” Marco starts, hand held out as a signal to stop. “When we go in there, I need you to keep your head down. Be quiet, and stay close.” Wait, what? What does that even _mean_? 

“No- I mean wait, Marco, _what is this_?” You hiss, voice wavering. First, you park in your friendly deserted neighbourhood with rats and creepy buildings. Then, you accidentally call someone you barely know Goldilocks. Now, you have to ‘stay close and be quiet’, and for _what?_

“(name),” It’s Ace speaking this time, and you shift in your spot. This is ridiculous. Your mind is listing off a billion reasons why this is a horrible idea, to which you whole-heartedly agree, but you know they won’t listen. “You'll be safe with us.” 

 _I don’t want you to keep me safe! I want to go_ home _!_

“ **No**.” The way the one word comes out of your mouth scares you. It’s parallel to the way you’d spoken to Marco back at your apartment. Angry, desperate, _horrified._  

You know that they’re doing this to ‘help’ you, but your feet are glued to the ground. Your legs are shaking badly, and you feel so sick you just want to bend over and puke.

Marco’s obscured eyes take in the picture of you trembling like a leaf. Even if it has been there for the longest time, his blank expression is stressing. You _just can’t read him._  

At last, he sighs and inspects the streets again. The distant roar of an engine clashes with the silence.

_RING._

**_UNKNOWN 6:52PM_ **

_Behind you._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ANND SCENE!
> 
> Yeah... that's it. Quite a bit of mystery, if I do say so myself. Izo's division... the text... 
> 
> All very suspicious. 
> 
> Also, I kinda rushed it at the end because I wanted to be DONE with this monster. Marco's character sort of... idk... it feels like it falls apart at the end, but I'll let you decide. Lord knows I'm too critical of everything I do lmao.
> 
> Thank you so much for making it down here. Hope to hear from ya :')
> 
> [side note: if you feel like saying something about Ally, the server that works with you, go right ahead! i've received some bomb reviews on characters before and honestly, i need to hear what you think. keeps the inspiration flowing, y'know.]


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> eyyy guess who it is it's me the author.
> 
> Okay, so, what do I say today. Usually, I know what I want to ramble about but honestly, my brain's kind of fried at this point so...
> 
> Uh... I wrote some parts of this chapter on a public computer, and I have limited time when it comes to those, so I'm sort of rushing right now. So, basically, I found this chapter kind of... boring? There's a lot of things going on, so hopefully, that won't be the case for you, but there's also a lack of humor that's sort of bothering me. I couldn't sneak it in, though, so I'm sorry if this chapter isn't as entertaining as the others. The story is taking a more serious turn, and you/the reader are in the middle of it, so... yeah...
> 
> Anyways, since, again, I am typing on a public computer, mistakes might have doubled or tripled. I will go back and edit this when I get home, but I just couldn't deal with it anymore. I'm most productive in terms of my stories right before I have to go somewhere so I thought, "Why not just embarrass myself and let people see what I'm doing so I can actually get things done? :)))" And so that's what I did. Nobody has questioned me so far, but... lmaooo.
> 
> Hopefully you enjoy though. I tried my best to throw in humor in there but I didn't want to force it, so... yeah. Bear with me for a little while, eh?
> 
> Also, thank you for almost 200 kudos on this story. I'm really happy with all the support this story has received considering it's an AU and I'm not even that knowledgeable when it comes to One Piece lolol.
> 
> Read on, friend! 
> 
> Just a heads up: There're quite a few P.O.V changes! Sorry if it's a bit confusing, I just needed to do that this chapter :)
> 
>  
> 
> WARNING: This story is taking a darker turn! I will update the tags as I go along but if you're uncomfortable with anything, make sure you make the right decision for YOU. If you want to read it, go right ahead, but please don't attack me. Aside from that, there's a warning for unhealthy coping methods, with more to come as we journey further on. Thanks for understanding!  
> Edit 346: I may have forgotten the phoenix's famous ~yois. Don't worry, I added them in lol.

Behind you.

You froze, the words flashing on your screen ensnaring you in their grasp. Tension pervaded in the air and invaded your body, attacking your senses as you tried to compute what you’d just read.

 _Behind you._ Your brain parrots back at the device in your hands, which had begun to tremble again. You tighten your hold on your phone to make them stop, your case digging into your palms painfully. Unlike previous times you’d been ridden with anxiety, your palms are dry to the point it felt like they were cracking. As if your body didn’t have the guts to sweat.

“…(name)….” There’s a distorted, muddling echo of a voice calling out to you. It resounds inside your mind, gentle and comforting and bullshitting you. You dig your nails into your phone, tingles of fright sinking into your skin like a series of tiny, prickly teeth.

Sluggishly, you turned, ready for the predictable barrel of a gun aimed at your forehead. You loosened your grip on your phone as you did, eyes unblinking, and allowed your bags to slip off your arms. They land in a heap on the ground and stay there.

There’s no gun.

_Behind you._

_Behind me._

**_What’s_ ** _behind me?_

“(name)?” The voice from a few moments ago returned, this time deafening as your surroundings close in. Those pitch-black buildings looming over you totter forwards, inspecting you, mocking you, concealing the unknown. The cracks twisting up the walls are like mouths eagerly waiting to catch and consume you alive. Light pressure builds up in your chest and your heart stutters, thrashing in its cage. You’re _trapped_.

There’s an engine rumbling faintly, and you wonder if it’s some criminal making their way to you. The thought of someone hounding you reverberates inside your overworked brain, and your body jolts.

The same pressure in your chest migrates to the gap between your shoulder blades, weighing you down, threatening to push you over the edge. Clenching your jaw, you battle your panic and jerk your body from the feeling at your back.

Unprepared for the sudden actions, the intruder retreats as you continue with your frantic attempts to locate what’s _behind you._

“Where?” You rasp, head snapping back and forth as you peer at the buildings, between them, the road, everywhere. Everywhere and anywhere and even then your gaze exposes nothing. No strange figure lurking in the darkness, no rabid animal, no gun, _nada._

“ _Where_?” You repeat, eyes overflowing with tears that spill when you move your head again. They roll down your cheeks, and you use your sleeves to wipe them away harshly. Your surroundings sway and mock you in the murkiness, windows like gaping holes.

Someone could be up there, training who knows what weapon at you right now.

“(name), hey,” The heaviness returns and locks your shoulders. Your breath hitches, and suddenly, you can’t handle it anymore. Struggling, you clutch a pair of wrists and try to shove them off. The person endures your onslaught of wild flailing, and you screech.

“No! NO! Get off me! GET _OFF_!” You roar, successfully wresting the hands off you as you whirl around. Your mind is howling that you run, and your body responds, following through. Springing into action, you tear off in the direction of your car but never make it far. The infuriating limbs have doubled in number, and you bite back your screams for the sake of fighting. Two people grunt and stumble when you untangle one of your arms, your sleeve sliding down awkwardly.

“—co, what do we do?! She’s not calming down!”

“Hold on ~yoi,”

Hands grasp your shoulders a second time and you feel a sob clawing up your constricted throat. Throwing your head back, you screw your eyes shut, knees buckling. You kick at whatever is in front of you, but never land a hit.

 _No, no, no,_ no _!_

“(name), enough.” You writhe against your captors, hyperventilating and shaking your head. Enough. _Enough?_ If there’s anyone that’s had enough, it’s _you_. “(name), you have to calm down. Breathe.”

Dropping your face to the floor, you bite your lip, fresh tears in your eyes.

The people contain you by your upper arms, preventing you from balling up on the ground and dying right there. Your arms dangle loosely; your legs strain to bear your weight.

It is a long time before you can finally open your eyes, and the contrast between your closed lids and the street is blinding, so you shut them again. Blotches of colours resembling that of an oil spill dance in the darkness. You sucked in a breath of air, then exhaled, repeating the process until your brain functioned properly.

At one point, your brain urges you try again. That you keep fighting, but you ignore the notion.

Escaping was beyond reach and you were going nowhere. Meekly, you force yourself to try to shake the people off you one last time. The hands tighten in warning, and you surrender.

Eventually, your muscles lose all strength and you sag with a profound sigh. The people supporting you heft you higher so that your feet are actually planted on the sidewalk. Your legs straighten, and your knees begrudgingly lug your weight.

Opening your eyes, you stare at the ground numbly as everything shifts back into place, slowly. A blond you recognize stands in front of you and drops his hands from your shoulders. The sleeves of his blue sweater fail to hide the phoenix winding up his arm, and you focus on its bored expression.

“(name) ~yoi?” Marco calls tentatively, hands clenching once before they rest at his sides. You sniffle, using a tremulous hand to swipe your tears away.

Defeated, you mumble, “There’s no one there.”

You hear the rustling of clothing as Ace and Sabo share a look of concern, but Marco is unfazed. Patting your pockets, you search for your phone, then realize you’ve dropped it in the midst of fleeing. Noticing your eyes, Sabo picks the device off the ground and hands it to you, frowning.

Unlocking the thing, you tap the messaging app and reveal to him what literal bullshit you’d received. He lowers himself to your level, reading the words before checking the neighbourhood, face grim. You resist the urge to toss your phone across the street and put it in your pocket instead.

Ace and Sabo vanish from their spots at your side. The two enter your line of vision with your bags in their hands, but you’re too shaken to offer them your gratitude.

“There’s no one _there_.” You hiss, seething at the stupidity of it all. A miserable frustration highlights the last word.

“I know,” Marco agrees softly, facing you. “I know.”

Deflating at his tone, you ground your palms into your eyes, putting a dam to block the tears. Inhaling deeply, you wipe your cheeks to rid them of the stray droplets.

“We have to go.” Ace pipes in from your left. It sounds like he’s afraid of having you throw another fit. You look at him, movements hindered by the exhaustion bleeding into your bones. He avoids your eyes, and your brain scoffs, wanting to smack him upside the head with your ice scraper.

_Weren’t those the good times._

“I know that, too.” Marco nods, and saunters past you, eyes cold and steely. You follow him with your own eyes, wondering why he was going back there when you’d already said no.

“(name),” Marco begins, his voice hardened as he meets your gaze. “We have to go.” Alarms blare in your mind at the manner his tone flips from silvery to commanding. You school your expression, wanting to do what he’s so good at and betraying no emotion for a solid, stretched out minute.

Ace tenses at the lack of a response, and Sabo’s fingers twitch anxiously. Marco braves your challenge, head on.

Finally, you sniff, lips pursing at the thought of having to enter one of the gloomy, dirty, decaying buildings. Then, your brain casually glides an idea towards you, and you know you’re going to regret it immediately.

Digging your hand into your pocket, you fish out your phone and present it to him. Marco doesn’t react to your actions, but the other two do. They glance at each other, confused.

The blond averts his icy gaze to your phone, then back up to yours, lips a tight line. You mirror his firm yet relaxed expression, feeling a pang of hurt at the way he meets your eyes.

“If anything happens — _anything_ at all, Marco… I’m calling the cops.” You foreboded, your jaw clenching apprehensively. You note the change in the ambience the second it happens, and Marco’s brows twitch.

“(name)…” Sabo mutters sadly, hat pulled low over his eyes.

“I’m _serious_.” You insist, voice watery from the crying you’d done. You tuck your phone back in your pocket, hand securing it there.

Marco takes some time to ponder over your words, before finally announcing, “Very well.”

Ace opens his mouth, though you only know because Marco raises a hand to silence him, eyes still boring holes into yours. Despite the distance between your bodies, his figure is very much imposing. His stance is at the beginning of morphing into something more defensive, but also not. It’s like he’s thinking of testing the truth behind your words. Your fingers cover your phone protectively, fearing his next move. Would he lash out?

Marco lifts his chin, eyes flitting over to his dark-haired accomplice. His blue eyes narrow and return to normal. Then he spins around, takes a couple steps, and opens a door that looks like it’s about to topple off its hinges. Directing your gaze upward, you take in the height of the building, cringing at the mere thought of what's in there.

“Let’s go,” Marco orders, his words echoing in the gloom. “And (name),” He waits until you’ve actually fixed your attention back to him, paling considerably.

“Remember what I said.”

(x)

It’s not every day that Marco chooses this route, and for reasons that become obvious when you go through here more than once.

This tunnel, as Ace called it due to it's creepyness and lighting, was more of a hallway and a place where few would venture into in fear of what lied inside. That precaution was all well and good, but he’d had no other choice tonight, and most often than not, people relied on him to make the important decisions.

So, he stamped his distaste until it was non-existent and drove everyone here.

He knew instantly that nothing in this place had altered. It was the same bleak stretch that he’s marched through time and time again. Trash that was years old littered the floor, and bugs scaled the walls. With no windows, they’d installed a few dim lights that cast an ashy green glow to kill the shadows. Why the people had selected green, he hadn’t questioned.

Marco’s hand prevented the door from closing as you entered. As expected, you said nothing as you walked inside, head down like he’d ordered. A pang of guilt pierced his collected mind as he noticed your trembling hand weakly holding the door for Ace. Since the grocery store to now, you’d been shaking, anxious. The amount of stress clinging to your weary form now probably surmounted anything you’d felt before.

Marco watched as everyone entered, then continued walking, your threat haunting him.

He’d figured at one point that you had to make your own move, but he hadn’t imagined it would be so soon. Not only would it drag you into additional trouble, but it would spark conflict between gangs that wouldn’t be so easily extinguished. He wasn’t afraid, no, but with everything happening… the information would leak, and the dumber gangs would grow bolder. His family didn’t need the extra stress.

Marco nodded towards one of the men in his group, whom he’d ordered to wait for him here. The man tagged along, his white tank top doing little to hide the ink on his shoulder. The Whitebeard symbol tattooed into the skin of his chest seemed to smoulder at the sight of a familiar person and emblem.

“What news?” He began quietly as they both descended into a steady pace. The man finished greeting Ace and responded easily.

“Had a couple stragglers pass through here a short while ago, but I took care of them.” He explained, and Marco acknowledged his words with a hum.

“Good ~yoi.” He asserted, bidding the man farewell when they made it to the end of the hall. The man settled against a wall, swiftly distracted by his phone going off.

Marco’s large hand curled around the doorknob to the next, thankfully shorter, section of the hall. This is the part that he hated the most. Craning his neck to momentary look behind him, he noted how you toed at the ground, face contorted in disgust. Funnily enough, Sabo appeared no better. His lips, bowed downwards, mouthed a word or two as he scrutinized the wall.

He met Ace’s unbothered eyes and observed as the younger man nodded, then glanced at you one last time.

Exhaustion was beginning to take control of your emotions and expressions. He knew because your lids were half-closed. Long shadows caused by your lashes danced on your face.

He opened the door.

(x)

You felt regret at entering this place the second your nose picked up on the stench. The smell permeated the air strongly, so much that you dreaded heading inside, knowing that it was going to stick to your clothing. You had to cajole your mind out of leaving once you crossed the threshold, because, with the two in the flank and Marco ahead…

_Fuck my life._

The first hallway had been as bad as you’d presumed. Trash, dirt, bugs, and another stranger ambling beside Marco made you want to knock yourself out. Their muffled voices, too quiet for you to know what they were saying, were the only sound in the hall… thing. It’s not like you not listening to their conversation. You’re busy keeping your head down, anyway. And being quiet and gluing yourself to one of the people with you. You don’t trust them, but you trust this place even less, so you do what Marco told you to.

Rubbing your eyes with a finger, you traipse onwards, feeling the urge to drag your feet.

That panic attack, if you could call it that, drained you of whatever energy you’d salvaged. Now, you were reaching your limit, and it was starting to show.

Chancing a quick glance up, you realized you’d traversed the hall in less than a few minutes, which was good. The sooner you were outside, the better for your deteriorating health.

Deteriorating. That was a bit of a stretch.

Was it?

Clearing your throat, you watched Marco peek at everyone behind him before opening the door. You thought nothing of the way his eyes loitered when he glimpsed at you last.

Your trepidation increased in size when the door swung open, creaking in protest at the sudden tug. Holding your breath, you lower your face and follow Marco like some lost animal. The lightness of your arms is bothering you like there’s something missing. Glancing furtively at your items, you frown.

Honestly, it’s a miracle they’ve made it this far.

But, moving on.

This portion of whatever this place does not seem as bad. It’s larger, with a much higher ceiling. Still no windows, though. Here, the lighting as the other hall is the same green, if not a bit darker. The smell, which thoroughly put you off, is not as horrendous, but it’s not pleasant either. There’re no potted plants set up to exude a soothing scent. No, there’s cigarette smoke, the ever-apparent smell of booze, and what’s worse, there are people. _Too many people._

“Where are we?” You hastily whisper to Ace, who’s within earshot.

Your spur-of-the-moment bodyguard shushes you oh, so kindly, and steps closer to you. His bare arm brushes your shoulder, and, unable to distance yourself, you endure it. You’re quick to comprehend why he felt like hushing you was necessary.

“What do ya got there, eh?” A man hollers with a bottle in one hand as he stumbles near you. The man ‘ooh’s’ appraisingly when he notices you. Ace shoves him from his path, obstructing your view with his muscled body.

“Oi, Maaarco! Who’s that?!”

A snicker from your right, “Some big wig’s daughter?”

More people voice their excitement at the statement. You, a politician’s daughter… _please_. Even so, your heart begins to pound erratically. Although, you honest to God didn’t think it’d be that loud to your ears.

Sabo, who again you’d completely forgotten about, blocks a man’s course. When he complains and whines drunkenly, he too shoves the imposer to the side.

The beating grows louder the further you travel, and you realize with a start that it’s not your frenetic heartbeat, but music.

_Just… where…?_

It’s a fierce tune, with an overpowering bass and tremendously aggressive beats. You can’t decipher the melody. If there even is one.

The four of you push on, Marco, Ace, and Sabo deflecting people that dared approach.

“Hey, pretty lady, c’mere!” A man flocked by numerous women whoops. You flinch, terror rearing its ugly head as you accidentally bump into Sabo. He stabilizes you by clapping a warm hand on your shoulder. Sabo sends you a secret reassuring smile from beneath his top hat. You don’t reciprocate it.

Now in a new position, you can make out the couches and people lining the walls. There are mostly intimidating men who shift as you all walk by, trying to figure out what the commotion is about. You hide behind Marco when you lock eyes with a stranger. He eyes you as you stroll by.

You feel like an animal. Like a new exhibit brought to a zoo full of drunks, criminals, and members of several gangs. Tattoos of all colours are all in display to you as you walk, and you hate yourself for agreeing to this mess.

Another cackle, “Well if it isn’t Portgas! What’re you doin’ with those bags?!”

Your eyebrows furrow at the name, but you don’t question it. Judging by the way Ace’s grip tightens on the bags, it’s him. His last name, probably.

Up front, Marco halts and raises his hand. Ace does so immediately, though you and Sabo take a second longer to understand the cue.

“Step aside.”

Your ears pick out Marco’s voice from the crowd with ease, and you glance at the back of his head. Thinking that maybe this is another guy just trying to look at you, you will your body to relax. Marco would handle it.

And yet, you don’t move.

Marco doesn’t shove anybody, and you’re not walking. You’re not moving.

 _No_.

“I said, step aside.”

“Ah, but I had wished to see the young lady.” A smooth voice returned, and disgust slithered up your spine. It’s not like the man had said anything inherently bad, it was just… He wanted to  _see you._ That certainly improved nothing involving your current plight.

_Please. Please let me out._

“I’m afraid I can’t let you do that.” Marco calmly states, voice almost dead.

The man Marco is dealing with hums in thought, and you hear a measured tapping on the floor. It’s muted by the beat of the music and the other men, who have surprisingly lost interest, but you can still hear it loud and clear. It’s disconcerting.

Inching closer to Sabo, you lift your head to peer around Marco’s bulky shoulder. The younger blond extends a gloved hand to stop you, but you’d already seen what was making the sound.

A red cane twirled in the air, cutting it like a knife, and the man smiled creepily when he realized that you were searching for him. Eyebrows pinched, you decided that it’s best to never do that again. Ace’s expression darkens in response to the eerie grin. He pulls his orange hat down, silver eyes shining dangerously.

“Hmmm…” The man hummed. Marco and the man measure each other for what feels like an eternity. Then, the man drifts back into the mass of people, disappearing. The only reason you knew was that of that cane.

Tap, tap, _tap, tap…_

You were unable to make out a visage as the stranger walked down the noisy expanse of the room, but you thought you spotted a top hat. Alas, you were given no time to wonder, because Marco spoke again.

“Let’s go.” He waved a hand, and you three shadow him.

The rest of the stroll was brisk. Marco gave no one even a fraction of a second to stare or wander close to your tightly packed group. You thanked the heavens when the people became scarce and the beat of the music faded in the distance. A door opened ahead, and with a quick touch to the back, Marco sent you out of that hellhole.

Fresh air smacked you in the temple, and you directed your face to the side so you could appreciate it. You rejoiced in the ability to breathe correctly now. There would be no putrid smell of alcohol, sweat, and cigarette smoke combined for you for the rest of your days.

Too busied by the relief flooding your body, you don’t notice the two conversing quickly.

“Ace, you have to take her back on your own.” Marco begins as he rests a hand on the door, making sure the hall is fully sealed off. Tugging on it to make sure no one could open it, he faces the younger man.

“You’re not coming?” Ace asks, blinking in shock when Marco answers with a curt nod. “Why?”

“I have to take care of her car,” He explains, motioning to you, where Sabo has now joined you. The scarred man has his hat off and is ruffling his hair while you stand beside him.

“Right,” Ace sighs, wincing when the bags he’s carrying come close to falling. “Just text me when you’re done.”

“I will.” Marco states and ends the conversation with two quick glances down the street. Marco marches in a random direction, his mind readily providing shortcuts he can take as he does.

Ace watches his brother go, and tears his gaze away when Marco promptly heads into an alleyway. You and Sabo wait for him to make his way over to you.

“That smell sure was awful…” Sabo grumbled, nose stuffed in his collar. He separates his shirt from his body with a cough, nose wrinkled in repugnance as he glares down at it. You observe, internally agreeing. There was no doubt your shirt stunk the same way.

“Are we going?” Sabo prompts when Ace enters his line of vision. Ace nods, inhaling deeply.

“Yeah,” He replies, concern seeping into his expressions as you fidget with the sleeves of your upper arms. Ace looks away when you notice his expression, your eyes strangely dull.

(x)

On your saunter back home things are… ordinary.

Unlike you’d predicted, you didn’t duck into covert tunnels with unsettling men and weird smells. It’s dark, which gives you three the perfect shroud as you travel through the city. You’ve entered a part of the city that you actually recognize. The buildings are in much better condition, and there are no rats skittering about. All in all, it’s slightly peaceful.

Well, as peaceful as your life gets, really. These past few weeks have been the most chaotic and disrupted weeks of your life. Nothing would ever compare to this, you think.

“Left,” You mutter inaudibly, speeding up as you act according to your own directions. Sabo and Ace, chatting about things you don’t care for, trail after you as you do.

For the sake of not spending any unnecessary time outside, you’d taken up the role of a feeble, exhausted-to-the-bone leader. It was a requirement when you noticed that Sabo’s and Ace’s steps were beginning to falter as they scoured their memories. But, you weren’t that worried. Thanks to your job-hunting a couple months back, you’d memorized the bigger parts of the city.

Your two companions didn’t bother protesting as you did so, so you accepted the role of guide.

Your group crosses a street and makes another twist, and finally, you’re in your area. The hotel you’re cooped up in most of your days isn’t too far away now.

Hope flutters in your chest, but you don’t let it grow too strong. You’ve had plenty of chances to learn that, with these people, hope doesn’t belong. You couldn’t drop your guard now, no matter what. Even if home was just around the corner.

Out of nowhere, your phone buzzes. You’d deadened the noise before in fear of interrupting the two at your back, but you don’t care right now. Even so, it’s a long while before your curiosity gets the better of you.

Checking the app rather hesitantly, you open up your most recent message. Your heart is readying itself for another burst of panic, and you wished your brain would do the same thing. Maybe then you wouldn’t have panic attacks in sketchy neighbourhoods.

**_Ace 7:52PM_ **

_(name)!!!!_

You acknowledge the message and halt, furrowing your eyebrows. It was strange for Luffy to text you again, knowing that you’re not Ace.

“(name)?” Ace calls, sidling up beside you. His eyes stray from your screen, which is all too polite considering that it’s his phone texting yours from somewhere on the planet.

Like with Marco, you presented your phone to him, scrolling up to your previous conversation with Luffy. It takes him a good second to process the ID of the person sending the messages, and when he does, he’s patting his pockets for his device.

“Oh,” He starts, hands empty, “Oh no.”

Meanwhile, Sabo has also bent down to read your conversation. His eyes skim over the words quickly, and with a toothy grin, he proudly remarks, “I see you’ve met our little brother.”

Had you been any less fatigued, you would’ve been dead from the heart attack. Not only are there these two, but there’s a third one you haven’t encountered. With your luck, you might be doing that very soon.

And although your mental and physical states are not in their prime, your heart does threaten to stomp on the pedal and beat out of your chest.

“Little brother?” You ask, subdued. Raising your voice seems otherworldly at this moment.

Sabo chuckles, “Yes.” Then, he soothes his brother. “Ace, it’s fine. You know Luffy wouldn’t mess with your stuff.”

“It’s not that.” Ace gripes, rolling his eyes as he rubs the back of his head. “Marco said he would text me.”

Knowing that his worries are all regarding their line of work, you block it out as best you can, typing a reply.

**_XXX-XXX-XXXX 7:55PM_ **

_yeah?_

**_Ace 7:56PM_ **

_is Ace still with you?_

_he promised he’d be home today :(_

You scan the text several times, wondering just how old this person has to be. The way they act suggests that they are a teenager, at best.

**_XXX-XXX-XXX 7:58PM_ **

_yeah, he’s with me._

don’t worry though, he’ll be home soon.

“What are you saying to him?” Sabo asks, body alarmingly close when he reads your screen. “Oh, Lu.” He murmurs with a knowing grin.

“Ace, you should go home.” The scarred blond tells the other man, and Ace’s face scrunches up.

“Why?”

“You promised Lu you’d be there today, remember?”

Ace blanches at the reminder, and he groans. “How could I forget…?”

“You’ve had an eventful day.” Sabo comforts him, playing the role of pacifier extremely well. You don’t know how well you would’ve been able to handle Ace if he wasn’t here, especially since you hadn’t told him about his phone in the end. Oops.

“Can I really go, though?” Ace wonders, directing his troubled gaze to where you’re standing. He’s already holding out your bags for you to take, but his tight hold on the handles suggests that he’s not done here yet.

You nod curtly, “Yeah.”

Taking the bags from him and nestling them in the crook of your arms, you relay a message to their younger brother.

**_XXX-XXX-XXXX 8:01PM_ **

_Actually, he’s heading over to you right now._

Done typing the message, you press send and show Ace, raising an eyebrow expectantly. He goes over it a couple times before giving you a small, grateful smile.

“Well, that settles it, then.” He sighs breathily, withdrawing a step in the direction you’d just come from. “You guys will be okay, right?”

“We’ll be fine.” Sabo says, “Now go, you.”

Ace smiles one last time, retreating three more steps. He mouths ’thank you’ before whirling and hurrying away. You watch with your head cocked to the side curiously, and then he’s gone.

“Well, it’s just you and me, then.” Sabo declares, scratching his neck. “That Ace, so forgetful sometimes.”

Wholly aware that this was an attempt at gaining some sort of reaction from you, you flash him a weak grin. Apparently, it’s enough for him, because he sends you another crooked smile.

“We should get you home, though.” He finishes, establishing an easy pace for you. You’re grateful for the change in atmosphere. It’s not crowded like in the hall of absolute shit and smoke and whatever else. There’s a breeze that gently caresses your cheeks.

“I have to apologize,” Sabo says when you’ve been silent for a minute or two. You send him a bemused look. “Back there, Ace and I hadn’t meant to hurt you.” Oh. So they’d seen you fidgeting.

You knew it was the universe being a bitch, but bruises had begun to bloom on your upper arms from the fray. The way they’d had to restrain you had been rough, but you’d made it tougher on them by struggling. Their nails had accidentally sunk into your arms. But, because of your jacket, you received no other galling injuries.

“It’s fine,” You assure him. “It was my fault for freaking out, anyway.”

“Hmm, I doubt that.” He counters, shaking his head as he scans your face with his light blue eyes. You stare right back, and interrupt him with another brisk ’right’. The both of you move in tandem as you modify your course.

“What… what happened?” Sabo solicits, fretful.

Knowing that if you even spare a surreptitious glance at the text you’ll break again, you sift through your memory and elaborate as best you can.

“Some weird, creepy text,” You start, massaging your shoulders. “All it said was, ’behind you’.” Sabo jerks at your statement, eyes blinking rapidly.

“That’s…” He trails off.

“Yeah,” You huff bitterly.

“I’ll… have to look into that…” He burbles to himself, eyes downcast. “That’s really odd.” The fact that he plans on investigating is stranger, but you don’t tell him that. After the Goldilocks nickname, you don’t feel like testing his patience with some ridiculous comment. You’re treading thin ice, and even if these people have tried to coax you to trust them by helping you, you don’t want to risk it. Knowing when the ice will cave in beneath your quivering legs is impossible, so you’d much rather… not.

“You’re telling me.” You retort, snapping imaginary fingers at your brain to wake yourself up. It’s time you stopped moping and started acting like an adult. Sabo chortles at your grumpy comment, and you feel a small grin playing at your lips.

“Okay, but if you’re not in Ace’s… _gang_ , what do you do?” You don’t like saying the word ’gang’ in such a vast space, but you truck through your discomfort. It’s night time and everyone has retired to their beds. No one is listening to you.

“Politics, law… school,” He lists off coolly, shocking you for two reasons. One, at how easily he’d informed you. You’d thought that maybe you were treading a mighty personal area, but no. And two, school?

“You mean university?” You utter stupidly and Sabo hums in confirmation, eyes shining with mirth.

The conversation has somewhat revived you from your silent, zombie-like state. Having craved the feeling of wakefulness for quite some time now, you keep talking.

“But, how are you doing that? Aren’t you a criminal?” Sabo snickers at your incredulous face.

“Not if you don’t get caught.” He winks, and your brain sputters. Then he adds thoughtfully, “And yet here you are, walking beside said possible criminal.”

“If I’ve managed to deal with your brother, I can deal with you.” You grouse, glaring at him. Sabo is launched into additional peals of melodious laughter, and you can feel your face heating up. Why, only God knows at this point in life.

“I had him at my apartment for two days.” You dismiss him, eyes trained on what’s ahead of you. Buildings fit together snugly create a wall of shiny windows and signs around you two. A street sign peeks from the side of one of the said buildings, and your mind works to remember. “This, right now, is nothing.”

Sabo seems to find your little party with his brother quite amusing since he’s laughing again. It’s rather peculiar, seeing someone like him be so open with his emotions. Ace acted differently when he was with you. Cautious, wary, yet confident and reassuring. Sabo was similar in terms of confidence, but you could tell that he was humbler. They were so distinct to what you’d expect from people like them.

Or perhaps you’d spent too much time with Marco and were accustoming to his knack of guarding his emotions.

At the thought of the blond, your words die at the tip of your tongue. Thinking of the older man depressed and frightened you. You’d barely spoken after your threat, and the guilt was gnawing at your resolve. Was it really your fault, though? He drove you to a place that you’d never heard of, so of course you’re going to be scared. Of course you’re going to be predictable and threaten to call the cops when you really can’t for reasons you’d already established.

Marco’s icy gaze swims into view, and it would’ve petrified you if it weren’t for the fact that you’re not alone. Plus, you need to get home and at least get three hours of sleep.

“Sabo,” You start carefully, stopping at an intersection. Your companion halts with you and perks up at the sound of his name. “Would Marco have let me call the cops?”

Sabo tilts his head, golden locks hitting his cheeks as he considers his next phrase.

“No.” He says in the end. You avert your gaze to the floor.

“…”

“But, who knows.” Sabo attaches a new thought to his last one, and you raise your head. “I don’t know him that well. You could ask Ace, though, if you’re really curious.”

“No, I’m alright.” Whether he would’ve gone through with stealing your phone so you can’t fuck anything up or not is the last thing you’d like to learn.

After that, you replace talking with simply listening to the sounds of the city at night. There’s not many. A siren somewhere, laughter and whooping from an apartment’s balcony, and cars thundering.

“My apartment’s in that building.” You point as best you can at a large building. It’s not as fancy as the ones in the vicinity, but it surpasses the stupid neighbourhood by a mile. Sabo and you cross the street and enter the building you’d pointed to. The double doors open with a push the required no vigor, thankfully.

Trekking the lobby, you greeted the staff and the woman behind the front desk quietly with a wave that is diluted by your bags. They smiled or nodded, eying the top hat sporting man surveying their hotel.

Leading Sabo to the elevator, you press a button and patiently tap your foot on the floor as the elevator makes its way to your floor. When the doors swish open, you enter the elevator and push the button to your floor.

The ride is short, since your apartment is on the second floor, and when it is finished, you walk to your apartment. Sabo follows behind you, silent.

“I… thank you for carrying my bags all the way here.” You say when you reach your door.

The numbers _‘102’_ are plastered on the door in a bleached colour you assume was supposed to be gold some years ago.

“It was no problem.” Sabo grins, “Do you need me to carry them inside, or…?”

You weigh your options, his proposition strictly in the middle of your ruminations.

“Sure.” You agree, knowing that the fewer trips, the better. You’d never met a person that wanted to make more than one trip to get the groceries.

And so, you open the door.

Inside, thankfully, things are perfectly normal. Nothing has been trashed. The vase you’d wielded as a defense is in its place, and the curtains are still closed thanks to a certain someone.

You welcome Sabo inside with a smile that physically hurts your cheeks. “You can just leave them on the counter there.”

The blond does as instructed, and you do the same, walking over to the exit when you both finish.

“I know you’re well now but, will you be alright?” Sabo inquires once he’s out of your apartment and back in the hall. You nod before he can even finish his question. His lips stretch into a smile when you do, and you’re shocked to see when he keels over in what you assume in pain.

“Sa-” His name withers on your tongue when you realize that he’s bowing. To you.

When he straightens up, he chuckles at the perplexed glint in your widened eyes.

“Take care, Miss (name).”

“I-I- yeah! I… will.” You exclaim, eyelids fluttering as you blink the surprise off your face. Sabo is already travelling to the elevator when you do, long coat floating along behind him.

…

It’s not until the doors of the elevator separates you two and whisks him away to the first floor that you slam the door to your apartment shut with a hand fastened over your mouth. You fight with the zipper of your jacket one-handed, tugging mercilessly at the contraption. When you can’t get your damn jacket off you, you bring your hand away from your face with a broken gasp.

The article of clothing flies from your body, and you roughly kick your shoes down the hall, running to the bathroom. Tears blur your vision, but having memorized the place, it does nothing to hinder you.

Not bothering with the light switch, you lift the toilet lid and kneel before it, holding your hair back as violent coughs rack your entire figure. Clutching your shirt, you gag and inhale sharply, eyes screwed shut as a sob is ripped from your lungs.

 _Fuck, fuck, fuck fuck_ **_fuck_ ** _-_

Your body ached with each hack that your lungs expelled. Gulping, you sit there, hands finding purchase on the rim of the toilet seat.

The tiled floor of your bathroom chills you to the bone, even though you’re wearing jeans that fall to your ankles. Your body trembles, struggling to maintain the stooped position. Hauling your body off the floor, stars peppering your vision as you do, you clench your teeth together and swallow past the tart taste in your mouth. There’s a lump in your throat that makes the task arduous, but you manage.

Facing the sink of your bathroom, you cup your hands under the faucet as you turn it on. Water rushes to the drain, but you thwart it and gulp down whatever your hands sloppily gather. Some of it dribbles down your chin and worms its way into the bandage taped to your neck, wetting it. You don’t care.

Gripping the sink, you carry on coughing, though this time they’re weak. They don’t rattle your being, but it hurts. Your throat feels like it’s been scrubbed raw with sandpaper on the inside.

Swallowing again, you stumble into your living room, dizzy. Your couch appeals to your staggering, sweaty form, but you pay it no mind. You’re heedless to your body’s desperate plea for you to breathe and think about what you’re doing.

You drag your feet to your kitchen, narrowly missing the counter’s edge as you do. Grabbing at the handles of your cupboards, you rummage through each one, growing more desperate as you slam them shut. The doors bang and swing open with the strength behind each blow.

Nausea coils in your stomach and you cover your mouth to squash the need to empty it on your kitchen floor. Sputtering feebly, you breathe in audibly, uninterrupted tears streaming down your face.

Bending down, you search the last cupboard below the counter and discover what you’d been searching for.

You grasp the neck of the bottle and sniff, breathing laboured. It’s one of the bottles Ally brought when she broke up with her boyfriend. She’d forgotten it here and you’d never brought it up, and you’re grateful you haven’t.

Extracting a glass from one of the cupboards you slammed shut, you drop onto the counter, pop the bottle open, and pour its contents. You miss the glass horrendously and end up with a sopping counter.

Giving up on that, you swig the alcohol from the bottle in five gulps, gasping as you finish.

Capping it, you knock it to one side, uncaring if it makes a mess, and stagger into your living room.

Eyes befalling the couch, you lurch towards it. With every nerve-ending on fire and your conscience faltering, you plop down on it heavily. The springs of the furniture creak shrilly in protest, and it feels like the strike of a hammer against your congested brain.

Your vision tunnels, and with a final shred of strength, you look at your hands. The muscles constructing your arms strain with effort, aching to rest.

They’re not shaking.

You allow them to flop back to your sides, eyes slipping shut as sleep overcomes all coherent thought and oblivion blindfolds you. There’s a persistent _drip, drip_ of droplets impacting a hard surface that lulls you to slumber.

(x)

Ace sighed soundlessly, fingers inserting the key to their shared home in the lock. It was nearly ten in the night, and he was tired after what had happened, but…

“ _AAAAAAAACE!”_

…he was not going to get to sleep any time soon. Not that he minded, really.

Smile plastered on his face, Ace threw the door open, expecting Luffy to leap on him. True to his regular welcoming, his brother was already scrambling off the couch and diving across the room to him. Ace sputtered when Luffy crashed into his chest, wrapping his skinny arms around him and securing him there. Inching back a step, he stared at his brother fondly, detaching one of his arms to ruffle his hair fondly.

“Hey, Lu,” He wheezed when Luffy’s grasp tightened with a mischievous titter. “C-can’t… breathe."

Another giggle greeted his ears, and Luffy removed himself from his older brother, grinning. Ace chuckled, ribs complaining after being crushed but too content to pay attention to them.

“How’re you?” Ace continued, smile waning and guilt festering when Luffy’s expression morphs into one of sadness.

“’m bored.” Luffy confesses with pinched brows. Without missing a beat, though, he’s cheerfully declaring, “But it’s okay! You’re here now!”

“I am,” Ace smiles while steering Luffy back into the living room of their small apartment. A pizza box hangs open on the coffee table in the centre of the room, and Ace swipes two slices into his hands. Flopping down on the couch with his brother, he eats quietly. Your apartment had been much cleaner than his, and now that he’s back home, he can’t help but feel a bit bad for neglecting it. His mind created a list of things that he should do before leaving again, putting cleaning their home on top.

After devouring his second slice, Ace turns to his brother, who’s oddly quiet in his seat.

“You okay, Lu?” Ace prompts, mind racing. He already feels awful for not being here and forgetting, and if there’s something else…

_He’s probably mad at me. God damn it why can’t you do something right-_

“Yeah! It’s just…” Luffy’s words lose volume as he mumbles, gesticulating but not as vividly as Ace is used to.

“It’s just…?”

“You’re not usually this quiet when you get home,” Luffy reiterates pensively, rubbing his chin with his hand. _Oh._

Ace blinked, surprised at seeing Luffy pick up on his crappy mood so effortlessly. “I’m just tired, is all. Had a rough day today.”

“Ohhhh… okay!” Luffy exclaims, nodding vigorously. His straw hat is close to tumbling off his head, but he fixes it with a hand. Ace smiles crookedly at the sight, stretching languidly with a drawn-out groan.

Just like that, a switch flips inside Luffy’s mind, and he’s back to happy.

“Let’s play a game!” Luffy grins, already tossing a controller at him. Ace doesn’t catch it and it lands on his stomach, but he barely feels the hit. Nodding and yawning, Ace presses a button and the console comes to life.

“You’re on, lil’ bro…” He mumbles, blinking blearily as Luffy laughs his signature laugh, readying himself.

Turns out, his narcolepsy is more of a jerk than he’d previously deduced.

Just as he was winning his third game in a row, it decided it would be fun to kick in. Luffy being Luffy, he took advantage of his predicament and kicked his butt into next Tuesday.

Exhausted from the day’s events, Ace wasn’t keen on arguing, so he let his brother tease him for his loss.

“Yeah, yeah…” Ace quipped, lightly smacking Luffy’s hands when they neared. It failed to deter his little brother, who prodded at him jestingly.

Checking the time while Luffy continued to boast, he frowned. It was far too late, and he had to be up early tomorrow…

“I think,” He began, suppressing a yawn, “I’m gonna go to bed, Lu.”

Tilting his head to the side, Luffy regarded him a long minute before nodding. “Okay!”

“Don’t stay up too late,” Ace warned as he hauled his body off the couch and to his room. He heard Luffy’s answer from inside the living room. “And remember to keep your voice down, too,” Luffy confirmed he heard with another reply that Ace missed in his groggy state. Not like it really mattered.

Ace went through his night time routine, brushing his teeth and changing. He didn’t wear pyjamas often, but today he thought it would be best. Whenever he slept with his shorts on and his belt, he’d wake up with several red indents all across his skin and an imprint of a letter A on his stomach.

Checking his phone, he noted the messages from Marco and sighed in relief.

**_Pineapple-Head 12:34AM_ **

_Got her car to her place. Going to have to break in to leave her keys._

Ace imagined Marco picking the lock to your apartment, walking in there casually and depositing a set of car keys on the counter while you lingered in one of the rooms. He couldn’t help but chuckle as he typed a reply, remembering when you first saw him.

**_Fire-Boy 12:37AM_ **

_She might try to kill you if she spots you. I’d be careful if I were you._

_Might not look like it, but she’s strong as hell._

**_Pineapple-Head 12:38AM_ **

_I will._

_Get some rest, Ace._

Ace studies the messages for a little while, wondering if he should head out and help Marco somehow.

…

He raked his fingers through his hair, deciding not to. Marco’s knowledge when it came to stealth was vast, while Ace’s was rather limited. Ace absorbed each and every detail and reminder Marco flicked at him from time to time, but even so, he was years behind the older man.

Besides, Marco would be fine. He knew his way around the place better than anybody he’d ever met.

With this in mind, Ace climbs into his bed, groaning at the refreshing chill of the sheets. Adjusting his pillow, he buries his face in it, body unwinding as he gradually loses consciousness.

(x)

Marco is thankful for his excellent memory and for his tendency to map every location he discovers inside his brain. Most of the time, the other commanders approach him when they want to double check if their plans and their locations are correct. He provides corrections and answers at a rate others find alarming. He finds it convenient. The less time spent worrying over simple things the better.

This is why he has such an easy time driving to your building.

The deserted streets chorus the sounds of your car rumbling down the street. He sees lights flicker on and off as he goes, which he pays attention to. Curtains are drawn back, then put back in place when the person peering outside sees nothing that piques their interest. Whenever it happens, he can feel his shoulders get a little less heavy and his chest a little less tight. It’s naïve, especially at his age, to be confident that nobody is following or scoping out the streets for him, but he can’t help it right now.

When he parks your car in the parking lot, he spends a minute eying the wide expanse of the area. It’s dead quiet, which he understands but still takes into consideration. He finds it a bit curious nobody is up and about tonight. Climbing out, he briskly walks to the front entrance, car keys in the left back pocket of his jeans.

It is in this spot that he realizes that not everything is as easy.

“Sir, you can’t access the elevators without renting a room.”

The man is a youngster in his twenties, well dressed, and somebody Marco has no time for. He acts confused by the words piling out of the guy’s mouth, then smiles pleasantly to appease him.

“I’m here to see a friend,” Marco explains smoothly. It’s not exactly the truth, but it’s not a lie, either. He’d been entertaining the idea of breaking in to save time since he’d first arrived and it seems the best option. Ace still has remnants of the bruises you bestowed upon him with, what, an ice scraper?

“And which friend would that be?” The man prompts in feign curiosity.

“(name).” Marco states simply, tucking his hands in his pockets casually.

The man regards him for a moment longer, torn between kindly kicking him out and believing him. Marco thought it a bit ridiculous. Ace recited the story of dragging you to your apartment and how nobody stopped him. _Nobody_ stopped a shirtless guy with the Whitebeard symbol on his back in bold purple as he lugged your unconscious form into an elevator.

_Ace and that luck of his, I swear..._

“…very well.” The man says after a minute of awkward silence. Marco tilts his head to the side, eyes slipping shut as he smiles again.

The two of them part ways, and Marco makes a mental note to make it a routine to sneak past the staff in the lobby like he’d done previously. With less people that day, waiting for all eyes to move somewhere else didn’t take long, and he snuck past everyone with ease.

The blond trudges to an elevator, footsteps muffled by the carpeted floor. He’s glad that he’s forgone the purple shirt and the sandals. Because one, the fewer people recognize him now, the better, and two, it’s damn cold.

Pressing down on the button that will summon the elevator, Marco digs his heel clad in sneakers into the floor. He’s not nervous, per se… just…

A _ding_ echoes in his head and he enters the elevator before the doors are fully open. His thumb pushes the second-floor button and he’s off.

_—anything at all, Marco… I’m calling the cops._

Marco sighs, rubbing his face with his hand in exasperation. Yeah, breaking in it is. You’re already extremely put off by all of this and he doesn’t want to elevate the risk of you having a heart attack with his presence. He has to be in and out as speedily as possible.

The elevator reaches the second floor, and Marco exited, one hand still tucked in his pocket. He prowls the hall, eyes scanning each door for your room.

Soon enough, the numbers _102_ greet his vision, and he advances towards them. He checks nobody is in the hall with him, then kneels down, listening for any movements within the room.

Hearing none, he digs a bobby pin free from his pocket and bends it, handling it carefully. Marco doesn’t use bobby pins often; most of the time he has a lock picking kit that he prefers, but he didn’t have that with him today.

Sticking the bobby pin in the lock, he closes his eyes, alert to any and all noises around and in the room in front of him. With a couple swift gestures, the unmistakable _click_ of the lock coming undone rings out.

Breathing a soundless sigh of relief, he grips the doorknob and twists it, praying the door doesn’t creak. You’ll most likely be in your room, sleeping and unaware, but he’d rather not risk being caught because of a door.

Opening the door a crack to be on the safe side, he slinks inside, shutting the door behind him quietly. There is an audible sound that Marco curses but doesn’t focus on for too long.

Extracting the car keys from his pocket, he glances down at them, wondering where he should dump them so he can go.

_Kitchen counter._

His brain provided no other options, and with another sigh through his nose, he sets to work. Straightening up, he places one foot in front of the other, mindful of the way he places them on the floor. When he wanders into the living room, he checks the door that he surmises leads to your bedroom, ears straining. The room is silent, and he carries on, eyes befalling the counter…

Where a bottle is lying on its side, droplets of what he can tell is alcohol dripping steadily onto the floor. A small puddle has begun to form in the spot where the liquid drops down. Your jacket is nearby, just in the centre of the kitchen. Lips downturned, he scans the area again, concerned.

As he does so, he notices the lump on the couch and realizes that it’s you with your back facing him. You’re curled up, knees tucked close to your chest and your arms hugging your torso for warmth. You remain unmoving, and he breathes his third sigh, brain connecting the dots.

Walking over to the counter, he seizes the neck of the bottle and scrutinizes it. The cap had been screwed on haphazardly and hadn’t sealed the bottle correctly. Fixing it, he lays the bottle on the counter right side up, narrowly avoiding the puddle.

Marco's eyes become two slits as he thinks, mind racing. He places the car keys on the counter then stares at you solemnly, thoughts jumping back and forth.

He’d come for something and he’d accomplished it, but he can’t help but feel a pang of guilt at the way you’d ended up. Marco knows he should leave before you wake up and scream at him, but there’s something preventing his feet from carrying him to the door.

Something that he hasn’t felt in far too long and did not expect would come back ramming into his heart like a fist. A feeling that he knows he shouldn’t even attempt to dream about because it would only get him killed.

Ignoring the bells clanging in his head, Marco betrays his original plan and heads over to your room, overly uncomfortable at how absurd he was being. Pushing the door to your room ajar, he spots the bed and gathers the covers into his hands. He re-enters the living room, where you’ve now switched to your right side, and bee-lines to you.

He allows the covers to cascade down to the floor, then, with a raise of his arms and a flick of the wrist, he cloaks your shivering form with the blanket. The covers float down, hugging you as they settle down and warm you up. Marco can see the wrinkles that once decorated your face melt away as the cold is replaced with heat.

What he is not prepared for though, is for you to sleepily blink your eyes open. Marco freezes in his spot, hands suspended in the air and stiff.

You shift lethargically, hands worming their way out to cling to the blanket. Your lips twist downwards as you narrow your eyes at him, trying to force them to function properly. Unable to help himself, he holds his breath as you open your mouth to speak.

Not wanting you to become fully aware, out of panic and without thinking, Marco utters the first thing that smacks into his brain.

“(name) ~yoi,” He whispers breezily, praying you don’t startle into full consciousness at the sound of his voice. Marco swallows when you twitch, mouth slightly dry. “Go back to sleep, (name)...”

You glare at him for a second too long, and he fears that your mind has finally begun to catch up.

But, on top of the exhaustion and the alcohol, such a task is far too tedious for you. You mumble a string of words the blond misses, and with another twist, your eyes close again. Marco waits until your deep breathing is rhythmic, constant, and then his posture caves. His shoulders droop, and before his mind can begin to wonder, he escapes out the exit, making sure the door is locked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Marco <3
> 
> Yeah, I really like the guy. I couldn't resist throwing the scene in there. I was planning on having him rent a room across from yours, and I might still do that, but... Marco is sneaky and can get outta things quickly, so... yeah.
> 
> Oh, and, yeah. You're turning to alcohol. Not a good coping method, huh?  
> Anyways, hope you enjoyed. I'm kind of rushing things at this point because my time iS RUNNING OUT--
> 
> See you, thank you, have a good day, and I hope to hear from you!!  
> If this computer doesn't post this shit im gonna be pissed until next Sunday where I'll pray for more patience because life has been testing me--
> 
> bye!
> 
> (also look! this story is one year old! happy late birthday to my AU lol. i missed the actual date but i'm much closer than with my other story lmao.)


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lmao guess who has no idea what they're doing with the story. Me.
> 
> Things got out of hand in this chapter, but I can't say that I hate it. It just means that I'm going to have to rethink the plot for a little while.
> 
> Anyway, HELLO! Look who's still alive, y'all. I have to say that this chapter was probably one of the toughest to write, because of all the things going on in it because I've been low on inspiration tbh. But, moving on from that, a lot of you have been asking about Morgan and characters and their feelings and, do not fret!! You get some answers in this chapter. I don't know if I'm rushing anything, but I mean, we're on the tenth chapter and I wanna get things going, so that's what's happening today.
> 
> As you saw on the summary of the story, I'm gonna be a lil' inactive for a while. I have important exams coming up in the next month of so, and I want to prepare for those, so this will probably be the last you see of me. Unless I ignore my duties and type another one up lmao.  
> Also, I'm bumping the rating up because of the events that will take place in the future! I don't exactly know what those will be, but there will be some lolol.
> 
> Anyway, I'm pretty much drained today, so I'll get to it: thank you for all the comments on last chapter!!! I had a lot of fun on that one and seeing you guys enjoying it too brought me lots of joy. I hope you'll like this one as well. Thank you for 220 kudos and for the bookmarks and for all the support! I wish you all the best.
> 
> You may now read on lol.
> 
> WARNING: Nightmares, mentions of drugs, blood, and violence.
> 
> [Managed to fix the spacing!]

Throughout the night, several terrors haunted every minute of your sleep.

Barrels of guns and bullets whizzing by your head had you thrashing in your place, clawing at your arms, legs, stomach, neck… everywhere just to be sure you were unharmed. Enormous men grappled at your body, trying to drag you somewhere obscure so they could kill you. And throughout it all, a familiar purple skull with crossed over bones shone threateningly, reminding you of your promise. The insignia loomed above you as you struggled and sobbed, mocking you with its toothy grin.

It was four in the morning when your third nightmare knocked on the door. You huddled as close to the couch cushions as you could, jittery and too shaken to notice in your quest for warmth. The first two had blended together so effortlessly you couldn’t figure out when one ended and another began.

More people reached out to you with long, spindly fingers, their touch like thorns on your skin. They moaned endlessly, their jaws clacking and bloodshot eyes wide as the laughed and _laughed_ at your miserable state. Then you realized you were bare, with no protection from clothing as nails raked and pierced your skin.

At first, there weren’t many, but then every single _monster_ caught up and it became an onslaught. With no escape, you curled up on the ground, arms encircling your middle as you cried. Wedged between a melee of gangly forms, you could do naught but let the tears fall. Angry crimson marks, a few deeper than others, decorated your skin when you awoke, writhing and screaming.

It was then you decided that sleep just wasn’t an option anymore. If you tried to, you’d end up waking the entire floor.

The temperature in your apartment plummeted. Despite your clothing, this caused the icy chill to latch onto you, sapping the warmth from your fatigued body as you fought to sit straight. Your blanket, once tangled at your feet, was now on the floor. You didn’t even remember grabbing it from your bedroom.

And so now you sat, hunched over and despondent, your couch far too warm and comforting for you to venture off somewhere. It was nearing five in the morning and you’d remained still for almost half an hour. Your head throbbed for a reason that was too strenuous to dig for in recesses of your mind. You shivered, the chill numbing your fingers and drying the tears on your cheeks.

Still, you did not move. You were too tired to follow through the list of chores you had set up for today.

And sure, you had to drive down to your university… _and_ you had work today… but…

You exhaled, half-lidded eyes aimlessly drifting the room.

You couldn’t make out much due to the lack of light, but it still didn’t stop your wandering eyes. There wasn’t much to look at, which was also fine, because you weren’t eager on focusing on anything anyway. God knew what might be in here with you.

But, no matter what or who might be in the room lurking, you had to get up. Missing school and not attending work wouldn’t do any good in the near future. You needed the money and you needed the education if you wanted to keep making money.

With this less than comforting thought in mind, you sluggishly rise from the couch, regretting it mere moments later. Nausea blooms in your stomach, and you cover your mouth, waiting for the inevitable.

Thankfully, you don’t empty your stomach on the coffee table. The nausea rolls in your stomach, but it doesn’t branch out to the rest of your body, which means you are free to roam your apartment for the next… two hours. Your brain doesn’t even bother cheering sarcastically.

You round the coffee table, stepping over your discarded blanket and staggering into the kitchen. A glass of water sounds like a gift from heaven right now.

Entering your kitchen, you smack the wall for the light switch. Usually, the illumination provided by the sun’s rays was enough to guide you, but the sun is still tucked away behind the horizon.

Flicking the lights on, you hiss when it temporarily blinds you. Unfortunately, that’s not the worse that occurs when the lighting hits your face. A headache, one that you thought was an after-effect from so much crying, pulses heavily with each beat of your heart. It pounds against your forehead, as if some creature is begging to be freed from the confines of your skull.

Rubbing your temples, you open a cupboard, extracting a bottle of painkillers. Then, you ungraciously stumble to the cupboard housing the glasses and fill it up with tap water. The noise the faucet makes is deafening, and you bite back a pitiful sound of pain when it worsens the throbbing in your head.

When you down your second glass of water and a painkiller, you drop the glass in the sink and lean against the counter. You bend over the sink, feeling the nausea crawl up your oesophagus painfully. It’s making you want to vomit, which is gross and all, but maybe then you’ll feel some sort of relief.

Your stomach refuses to cave and you don’t push it.

Leaning away from the sink, you glance outside, eyes burning from the exhaustion clinging to your mind. It’s still too dark for you to go anywhere.

Clad in your outdoor clothing from yesterday’s adventures, you scour your pockets for your phone. The way your clothing is glued to your skin because of your sweat is uncomfortable and makes the search for the device tedious, but you find it.

Fishing out your phone, you press the on button and stare at the screen.

The numbers on the screen read 5:02 AM. You had to leave at around 7:45 AM.

You bite back a groan. How you were going to spend the next two or so hours, you didn’t know. The best you could do was review your notes and study. Maybe even check for future assignments, if your body allowed that much. Your spine ached from the awkward positions you’d pulled off while sleeping. Maybe you should discontinue your current studies and try aiming for a gymnast title.

 _Or,_ your brain adds, _you could try eating something before you faint and crack your skull open on the floor._

A part of you halts at this, and you scowl. You didn’t feel like eating, but who knows what might happen in the next two hours.

Opting for an apple, you snatch said item from your fruit basket, wash it thoroughly, and munch on it slowly. Your nausea instantly revolts at your actions and tosses a fit, but you stamp it back down with another bite. You need to eat.

Right beside the sink, a bottle of alcohol and an unused cup sit idly. You seize the neck of the bottle hesitantly, cogs spinning in your brain as memories attack you left and right. You remember the race to the bathroom, the dizziness and panic, and the way you’d gulped down the contents of the bottle in seconds.

You didn’t think you’d be suffering from a hangover, but the years change people, and you were different now.

Sighing soundlessly, you check how much alcohol in the bottle remained and raise an eyebrow at how little of it there was left. Had you really drank that much?

_No. No, I couldn’t have… could I?_

You survey the room, finally spotting the jacket you’d worn yesterday and the puddle at the side of your counter. That explains it.

Huffing humorlessly, you pick your jacket off the floor, ignoring the puddle. You’d clean that when you weren’t dragging your feet and you could actually maintain your eyes open. For now, you had two hours to kill and a headache to nurse.

You’re about to begin the trek back to the couch when you detect one item you don’t remember placing on your counter.

Your car keys stared back at you innocently, glinting in the light of the kitchen. Narrowing your eyes at them, you will your brain to dredge up the memory belonging to this new discovery. It’s hard, but eventually, a blurred figure and a soft murmur joined your ever-expanding pile of worries.

Whoever it had been, they’d placed these keys here.

Refusing to let the anxiety and paranoia kick in, you walk past your keys, ignoring the way they called out to you sweetly. The curiosity and fear mingled together, but you ignored both feelings. There was time for everything but that right now.

You milled about the room, throwing your jacket on the couch and pointedly avoiding the kitchen. There was nothing that you even remotely wanted to do today.

Eventually, you settle for lounging on the couch. Flopping down on the soft cushions, you pluck the remote off the coffee table and turn the TV on. The voice of a newsperson greets your ears, and you can see the headlines are all about the latest petty crime.

On this occasion, it was two individuals- young men, to be precise, who’d dined and dashed from a restaurant in the same area as the grocery store. So, already off to a good start, it seems. The pictures are too hazy for you to be able to see a face properly, but you didn’t really need great resolution to figure out who they are.

The insignia that’s tormented you for the entire night was enough to name one of the perpetrators.

Ace and who you surmise is Sabo have their backs facing the camera as they flee. There is staff from the restaurant chasing them, utensils and fists above their heads, but they obviously never caught up. Sabo and his brother lost the people hunting them and then you were left to deal with them on your own.

In all honesty, seeing them on the news didn’t faze you in the slightest. You gave a slow blink, an unperceivable shake of your head, and switched the channel to some cook show hosted by some blond guy. The man jabbered enthusiastically about all the different ingredients at his disposal, explaining multiple things you didn’t care for.

You check your phone a second time, seeing that it was now 5:37 AM and that you still had way too much time on your hands.

You allowed your head to bump against the top of the cushions exasperatedly. If you weren’t so tired and it wasn’t so dangerous in the streets, you might’ve taken a walk. But, then again, you don’t want to repeat the alleyway incident, or cross any gang members you might be acquainted with, so…

Yeah, you’re trapped in here.

_Yippee._

(x)

“I’m going to _kill_ you.”

Marco smiled wryly, back against a graffiti covered wall as he stares ahead.

“And why is that ~yoi?”

“Don’t you dare try to act innocent, you _turkey_! You know what you did!"

Marco adjusted the phone stuck between his ear and his shoulder, studying the pistol he’d brought along with him. The safety was off and the cartridge full, but he needed to kill the minutes somehow.

“I don’t think I do, Thatch.” He responded nonchalantly, tucking the gun back in its rightful place.  His belt was nowhere near a proper holster, but it kept the gun still as he walked, so he didn’t mind. Speaking of walking, it was time he got a move on. Tonight was the night.

The blond bit back a chuckle at the choked sounds coming from the other side of the call, smile disappearing from his face. Thatch, having awoken, had found out about his prank. Marco would have preferred to be present instead of outside in the cold, but a job was a job and he had to get it done.

“You’re an _asshole_ ; you stuck seeds everywhere! In every mug, glass, cupboard, on my plates, pans- just how much time did you spend doing this, huh?! Do you know how much I love this kitchen? Do you, Marco, you dumb turkey?” Thatch rambled on nonsensically, halting to suck in a breath so loud it hurt Marco’s ears.

“And my  _hair_! You put them in my _hair_!”

“I did ~yoi,” Marco lets loose a chortle, further angering the man lamenting his ruined hair.

“You’re gonna regret this, brother.” Thatch threatened when he heard Marco’s muffled sounds of amusement. “Now I’m gonna have to waste hours trying to get the stupid seeds out of my hair and I have a date with Izo and damn it, Marco! Just how much bird feed was in that stupid container? And why would you do this to me?!”

“If I remember correctly, you’re the one that keeps making bird jokes.”

“Dude, bro, _everyone_ makes the stupid bird jokes.” Thatch pointed out dryly, grumbling to himself afterwards. Marco could hear him raking his hands through his hair.

“Well then, let’s just say it’s a message from a certain someone.” Marco made a turn, voice lowered as he scanned the opposite side of the street. Not much to go, now.

“Yeah? And what’s that message, huh? What did this ‘ _certain someone_ ’ say that compelled you to ruin my day?” Thatch shot question after question, annoyance coating his tone of voice and amusing Marco even more.

“To not prank me again ~yoi. That way, and I quote, she won’t have to deal with my sorry ass anymore.”

Marco’s smile returned at the way Thatch snorted so openly, but it did not last very long.

“Was it your _girlfriend_ that told you to tell me this message? What was her name again? The bar girl?”

“(name). Her name is (name).” Marco informed him in a softer voice, rolling his eyes at Thatch’s first comment.

It’d taken him a while to recover from the barrage of emotions that had assaulted him and his plans back in your apartment, but he was better now. Marco had left you with a blanket and had delivered you your car and keys. He’d done his best to dust some stress off your shoulders and was ready to carry on with his life.

“(name), _right_ …” Thatch mumbled, and they both descended into silence. Marco knew what this silence meant all too well, and he immediately moved to intercept Thatch’s train of thought.

“I don’t like her ~yoi.” Marco stated resolutely, relishing in the _‘damn!’_ Thatch hissed. Unfortunately, Thatch, mulish as he was, refused to be swayed and forget the subject.

“Marco, come on, you need to find someone, man.” He insisted, and Marco sighed at the familiarity of this conversation. Even Pops had mentioned this to him a couple years back. Marco footsteps quickened when he spotted the building he was supposed to enter. They both knew what his answer was going to be.

“We’ve already had this conversation, Thatch,” Marco reminded firmly, and Thatch harrumphed. The shifting of clothing painted a picture of Thatch with his arms crossed over his chest and seeds in his hair in Marco’s mind. This lightened his mood somewhat. “Good luck with your hair.” He tacked on, just to get back at Thatch for his jabs at his romantic life. Thatch cursed him loudly enough that he could still make out what he was saying when he pulled the phone away from his ear.

Shoving his phone in his back pocket, Marco tore off in the direction of the building, blood singing. The building was an old bar built a long time ago that had lost its customers due to its most recent competition, which was your workplace.

The front was lit up with buzzing, dying lights, but he ignored the vanishing details of the entrance. There was no time for that.

Hand curling around the door knob, he allowed his eyes to slip shut for a second in preparation before cracking the door open. Casually, he entered, the mask he always wore back on his face.

Inside, it was hot and humid. The amber, incandescent lights shed more heat than anything else. It was fairly well-lit, but even then some shadows clung to the farthest corners of the room. At the very back, a long, worn bar and numerous stools sat. This bar didn’t have as much variety when it came to its drinks due to its declining revenue.

Tables and patrons were scattered all throughout the spacious room. Some were playing poker while others murmured quietly over some drinks. What was most noticeable though, was the hush in the room. Even the volume of the jukebox in the corner was turned down.

When he first visited the bar you worked at, the noise had been close to maddening. Men and women, drunk off their asses, laughed obnoxiously at whatever their friends said. Here, it was the polar opposite. Here, everyone sported grim faces that darkened when they recognized the man that’d just crossed the threshold.

Marco chose to remain heedless of the stares and sidelong glances he received, his blue eyes trained on a single man.

Approaching the bar, Marco observed the man carefully, noting the bunched shoulders and the nervous grip on a pint of beer. He thought he’d feel sympathy or remorse, but it was far too late for any of those emotions. There was no space for kindness or a single mistake. Not tonight.

Marco didn’t bother greeting the bartender wiping glass mugs behind the counter. Instead, he picked up a stool, placed it at the man’s side, and sat down slowly. Then, he laid his gun on the counter, the weapon clicking dangerously as he did so.

A few minutes crawled by, and the man didn’t acknowledge the newcomer.

 Ready to end this little game, Marco opened his mouth and spoke:

“Hello, Morgan.”

The man flinched so violently the contents of his pint nearly spilled. Marco calmly raised an eyebrow, drumming his fingers on the counter. He studied the menu hanging from the ceiling, seeing most items had been declared 'unavailable'.

“Marco,” Morgan greeted with a weak nod, acting as if he’d been expecting one of the most dangerous members of the Whitebeard Gang to show up. He scratched nervously at the stubble on his chin. “How did you find me?”

Marco didn’t bother answering the man’s question. The arduous hours spent slogging away at multiple things with his family could not be mentioned. They’d sacrificed too many days on this ridiculous search.

The blond wiped the counter with his hand thoughtfully, feeling the aged wood beneath his palm. Wood chips bit into his skin when he removed his hand and straightened his spine. This place’s demise had come faster than he expected.

“You know why I’m here ~yoi.” Marco murmured, the gun on the counter gleaming. It was on display for the bartender and everyone that chose to watch the scene. A bead of sweat rolled down the side of Morgan’s face, which he wiped hastily. The older man pushed the glasses perched on his nose farther up, clearing his throat.

“I do.”

Marco hummed, heaving in a deep breath before closing his eyes.

They sat in silence for more than was necessary, but Marco wanted to be ready. Morgan fiddled with his drink, nails clinking against the glass almost eerily. The static-peppered music playing in the background busied both of them for a little while.

Then, Marco grasped the gun, the weapon weightless in his palm. Morgan eyed his drink, even as Marco aimed the pistol at his head. His finger curled around the trigger, and even then Morgan remained still, stony.

“I’m sorry.” Marco murmured, his voice betraying him and revealing how fatigued he truly was. He added the tiniest amount of pressure on the trigger, body tensing when Morgan bowed his head. The man’s grip on his beverage tightened impossibly, shame accentuating the frown on his face.

“So am I,” Morgan whispered back, voice wavering.

Marco increased the pressure on the trigger, the sounds of the bartender cleaning mugs doubling in volume before everything went quiet. The music morphed into white noise, and the chatter behind him faded away. He watched Morgan shut his eyes in preparation for what was to come.

And finally, when the barrel of the gun was an inch away from its target, Marco faced the bartender and shot him in the head. The man had no time to brandish his own gun as the bullet fractured his skull and embedded itself in his brain.

Immediately, people began to rise, their chairs teetering from the speed from which they moved. The sound of weapons being loaded reached his ears, and Marco shot three consecutive bullets at the nearest enemies. Each one pierced a person’s head and the blond leapt behind the bar for cover.

Bullets rained down on him, and he pressed his back against the counter. He used his arms to shield himself from shards of glass falling from the shelves and counter. A stool toppled to the floor, a panicked cry following suit when another array of bullets was fired. Morgan was trying to make a run for it.

Marco dragged the body of the bartender closer to him, grabbing the man’s collar from the back. Blood dripped down from the fatal wound in his head, but he ignored it. Crawling behind the body, he lifted himself and the body up, using it as a shield. Men screamed a multitude of swears at him that were swiftly put to a stop when Marco retaliated with a series of shots. This time, instead of curses, there were sickening pops and cries of anguish.

Tossing the body aside, Marco aimed at the fleeing man and shot him in the right leg, before ducking behind his cover again. Morgan howled in agony as he tumbled to the floor, clutching his injured limb.

The men halted their attack to aid Morgan, and Marco decided to wait, knowing that they’d won this battle.

Sure enough, the door was kicked open and a person with the strength of a hundred stormed the bar. Numerous yelps and sounds of surprise echoed in the room before they were drowned by the deafening booms of shotgun rounds being fired. The noise bounced off the walls menacingly, and Marco sighed in relief.

The blond poked his head out the side of the bar cautiously, nodding when Ace saluted him. Despite the serious look he donned, he could see the pride and victory dancing in his mercurial eyes.

“Took you long enough ~yoi,” Marco chided, abandoning the safety of his hiding spot and advancing toward his brother. Ace thumbed the rim of his hat, a grin sneaking past the stern façade he’d put up.

“Sorry,” Ace replied with a sheepish smile. “But you did tell me to rest, didn’t you?” He asked, smile widening when Marco frowned. Red splotches dotted his bare chest and arms, and Marco arched an eyebrow at Ace’s lack of clothing. The man shrugged casually, blinking owlishly at the older male as he adjusted the shotgun in his arms.

“And you literally texted me twenty minutes ago, so it’s not-”

Ace paused when Morgan, the only person still breathing aside from them, groaned. Ace and Marco exchanged furtive glances, then the blond nodded and Ace set to work.

“Ah- _shit!_ Wait, no, please- _stop!_ ”

Marco waited for Ace to haul Morgan to the centre of the room. Blood coated Ace’s hand when he gripped the male’s calf, and with one last heave, he released his leg. Morgan hissed when his injured leg collided with the floor.

“You thought it would be that easy?” Marco asked over the pitiful sounds coming from the writhing man. “You thought I would simply come here and shoot you ~yoi?” At this point, there was nothing dampening his anger. His rage only swelled when he received another pathetic sound and not a proper answer, but he did not let it show.

Marco piped down, using his sleeve to wipe his forehead tiredly. He didn’t feel the addictive rush of adrenaline or triumph most would have in a situation like this.

“Where are they?” Marco demanded suddenly. Morgan shook his head, a grimace disfiguring his visage as he tried to staunch the blood flowing from the bullet wound.

“Where are they, Morgan.” The blond’s voice darkened as he prowled closer to the man. He kneeled on the floor, resting an elbow on one knee. “Where is Izo’s division.”

Again, the man shook his head. “I-I… I can’t…”

Marco clicked his tongue, looking at the circle of bodies around them. Blood seeped through the cracks in the floorboards and dripped from the shelves behind the bar. Some of the dead men still had their eyes open, unblinking and glassy, wide as if they could see something no other could.

“If only you’d been smarter.” Marco huffed, drawing himself up to his full height. Ace shifted behind him, disgust and sadness in his eyes. “We could have avoided this altogether.” The blond fixed Ace with a blank look and motioned to the man on the floor. He set to work immediately.

The younger man flipped Morgan so that he was on his stomach and dug his knee into his spine. A panicked, confused whine resounded in the room. It morphed a shriek as Morgan’s shoulder was wrenched out of his socket.

“I _don’t know!_ I don’t know where they are! I _swear_ , I don’t know!” Morgan howled, his arm lying useless on the floor beside him. Ace’s knee kept the man from squirming free.

Marco hid his face behind a hand, frustration gnawing away at his patience.

“You helped, Morgan. Not only that, you killed one of your brothers.” Marco stated, eyes narrowing as he paced. He paused to lower himself to the floor again, fists clenching when Morgan averted his gaze elsewhere.

It was how it had begun. First, the death of one of their brothers, and then more. Men in Izo’s division had been targeted for reasons nobody knew, and it’d gotten to the point where Pops had forbidden any of them to go out on their own. Izo in particular.

An iciness spread inside Marco, first in his heart and then to the rest of his limbs. His mind screamed to kill the traitor, to get rid of him once and for all, but that would do no good. It would bring a fleeting sense of relief, then he’d be back to searching blindly for his brothers, blindfolded without a clue.

He dropped his gaze to the floor as the memory of Izo shouting at Pops in utter rage came back to him. Not at the old man, but at the perpetrator, and worse of all, himself.

_“Five, six, seven, TEN of them gone and I don’t fucking know who did it or where they are, Pops!”_

_“Don’t you DARE tell me to calm down, Thatch! This is my fault! ALL of it!”_

Just as he was about to open his mouth to speak again, there was rumbling at the front entrance. Ace’s head snapped upwards, eyes trained on the door leading into the night. Headlights shone through the grainy windows and Marco grit out a curse. When the headlights died, another pair replaced them, then another… and another.

“Ace,” Marco called, trying to count the men piling out of the vehicles but failing miserably. “There’s a door that leads outside in the storage room. Go.” The blond ordered.

“What about yo-”

“Go, Ace. I’ll join you soon.”

The raven-haired man lifted his knee off Morgan’s back, worry dancing in his silver eyes.

“I’ll wait for you outside.” Ace said, prompting a curt nod from his older brother. Hurrying to the back of the room, Ace spared the blond one last look as he halted, stance wide. “Marco, you better-”

“I know, Ace, I know.” Marco interrupted the younger man’s desperate plea. “Don’t worry about me. Go.”

Ace obeyed his order, but not before lingering for a couple, very precious seconds. When Ace exited through the door in the storage room, Marco focused on the recumbent body he once considered a brother. Morgan whimpered meekly when their eyes met.

“You and whoever you’re partnering with aren’t going to get away with this.” Marco growled threateningly, glowering down at the traitor. “I’ll kill you if I ever see your face again, Morgan. Remember that ~yoi.”

Then, Marco gripped his gun, shooting a few bullets through the windows at the front to thwart the people outside before sprinting in the direction of their escape.

“You’ll _die_ before _any_ of that happens!” Morgan yelled after his retreating form, and whether it was a threat or not, Marco could care less.

Outside, Ace was leaning against the wall, shotgun at the ready. When Marco crossed the threshold, he dropped the defensive stance, relief pooling in his eyes. Then, without another word, they set off. The wind lapped at his face and hair, and he focused on the feeling instead of the anger.

They’d lost him.

They’d lost him and he didn’t know how any of his siblings or Pops would react. He’d have Ace there at his side to tell his part of the story, but they were tired. They were all tired of this game.

Marco hadn’t even been Pop’s first choice. There’d been Speed Jiru, Rakuyo, Haruta, and a multitude of others. He’d been the last resort, and he’d failed his family, too.

Marco’s frustration threatened to overcome all thought as he ran. He thought about going back and finishing what he’d started, but a quick glance at Ace prevented him from doing so.

He’d lost Morgan, again, but at least… at the very least, they were still alive.

(x)

Leaving your apartment, despite your previous vexation at the two hours you had to spend at home, was not fun.

It was like excitedly preparing for a party and then realizing how big of a mistake going was the second you arrived. Except, there was no party to look forward to and everything felt like a mistake.

Standing in the middle of your living room, glaring accusingly at your car keys then relenting and plucking them off the counter? Without remembering how they got there in the first place like you expected? A mistake. Driving to your university when you honest to God felt like smashing your face into the steering wheel? A mistake. Attending classes and learning about abnormal psychology and multiple cases that changed the way police investigate cases? A mista-

 _Well_ , not really, but this hangover wasn’t healing and you were tired as fuck. You wanted nothing more than to go home. But the thing was, if you did, you’d probably end up curled up on the couch and, eventually, asleep.

You could not afford to sleep, especially with the fear of being late to work again rearing its nasty head.

Sighing, you climbed into your car, head thumping against the headrest. You cursed to hell and back under your breath, trying to soothe your headache by placing a palm over your eyes. The lighting in the university had been the most awful thing you’ve had to deal with this morning.

Scratching your neck, you brushed a finger over the tender spot that Marco treated yesterday. You’d ripped the bandages off sometime during the night because you thought someone was choking you during a nightmare. The cuts, miraculously, weren’t as bad as you thought they were and so there was no need to wear a scarf to conceal them.

What had been a pain in the ass though, were the bruises and scratches on your arms.

Ace and Sabo, when they’d restrained you, had gripped your forearms with such strength there were finger-shaped bruises on your triceps and biceps. They were an irritated red, with splotches of darker colours here and there that annoyed you to no end. You knew where the scratches originated from, but you weren’t keen on dwelling on them for too long. Your legs had been spared those injuries, but only because of your jeans.

And so, with no other options at your disposal, you bundled up in a dark jacket and a white, fluffy turtleneck. You didn’t bother changing jeans.

_But, moving on from that…_

You had nowhere to go. 

Scratch that, you had nowhere you _wanted_ to go.

There were multiple shops nearby, built between larger buildings in hopes of attracting weary students in need of an unhealthy meal to drown their sorrows. Accompanying that option was the Alabasta Mall. A perfect place to encounter who knows what criminal.

Seeing as class finished for a lot of people at around the hour you got out, the smaller stores were most likely flooded. And while the mall might be an excellent place to have a date with your future murderer, there were more witnesses if something were to happen.

Lips pursed, you insert the key in its place and reverse out of your parking spot. The mall it is, then. At least the drive was short.

Buildings zoomed by when you veered into the street, hands tightening around the steering wheel. The usual traffic crowded the roads, but you didn’t mind all that much today. Aside from the occasional jerk, it wasn’t so bad.

The Alabasta Mall soon came into view. The large structure flaunted different advertisements for new and amazing brands every week on its enormous billboards. Today, and like most days, makeup brands controlled most of said billboards. You thunder past the entrance in your car, wary of the other vehicles exiting or making sharp turns around you. This place, no matter what hour it was, was always flooded with eager shoppers ready to waste money.

Once you found a decent parking spot, you climbed out of your vehicle, threw on your backpack, locked it, and shuffled back to the main entrance. Elated shoppers carrying bags stuffed to the brim prattled on and on as they walked past you.

The doors swished apart at your approach. Usually, you’d waste a few minutes admiring whatever decoration the owners of the mall had set up, but not today. It wasn’t the fact they were boring or ugly. The building itself is a sight to behold.

Inside, things were ten time louder. The hundreds of voices and the sound of feet tapping on the tiled floor almost sent you reeling. Your hangover seemed to have improved somewhat with the walk, but it still screamed at you. Fluorescent lights blinded you, their glow bouncing off the floor and burning your retinas.

Wincing, you shield your eyes as best you can with your hand as you march on. Stopping now to tend to your headache is like begging to be trampled or yelled at. A wave of shoppers coaxes you to walk in a random direction, eyes scrunched up. You probably look like a weirdo, glaring at everything, but it’s the only way to keep the light from wrecking your eyeballs.

Eventually, the wave dissipates into nothing and you can change course. Seizing the chance, you waltz into a clothing store. The music inside is horrendous and the lighting is even worse, so with a grimace the cashier definitely scowls at, you spin around and leave.

 _I’m just gonna go to the food court._ You grouse internally, shaking your head when a furious child starts wailing in the background.

And so you do. The food court, one of the most popular places in the entire mall, was as crowded as you expected it to be. A sea of hungry individuals entered your line of vision, and you sighed in relief when you spotted an area that was less occupied.

Cutting through a group of teenagers, you briskly arrive at a vacant table. Plopping down on a chair, you drop your bag on the table and begin searching for your wallet. A single sugary drink won’t damage your system too much.

Once your hands curl around your wallet, you shoulder your bag and stare at all the choices at your disposal. There’s a lot to choose from but, in the end, you settle on purchasing your drink from the nearest one. It’s a store renowned for its menu, which is packed with meat.

You begin to saunter over to the cashier, who straightens up when he notices you. Unfortunately, you don’t detect the shorter form barrelling towards you until it is too late.

“Shit! Fuck, shit, damn it!” Swears fly out of your mouth rapidly, so much that you gasp for breath when you finally stop to see just what idiot rammed into you head first. There are several people, all shocked and rooted in their place. Only one of them doesn’t appear surprised. Irritated, you lift your body off the floor, ignoring the bystanders boring holes into the back of your head. You check your phone, praying that the fall hasn’t cracked the screen. If something happened to it, you don’t know how the hell you’ll survive; this thing had been expensive, damn it.

Thankfully, it has been spared the damage. You wish you could say the same for your behind.

“Luffy! I told you to be careful!” A male voice chides the teenager sprawled on the floor. The boy scratches the back of his head, a nervous, apologetic grin on his face as he laughs.

“Sorry, sorry…”

“Don’t apologize to me, idiot, apologize to the dear lady!”

Suddenly, somebody grabs your hand and you spot a blond on his knees, in front of you, head lowered respectfully. “I sincerely apologize for his actions, my lady. Are you hurt?” He raises his eyes so that they meet yours, wide and full of what you can simply say is adoration. Gawking at him, your gaze bounces between all of them. None of them look impressed at his gentlemanly actions.

Oh boy.

And you thought Sabo’s bow was a bit of a stretch.

You look away from the fluttering, blue eyes staring up at you expectantly, a blush colouring your cheeks. “Uh… yeah. I’m okay.” Ha, not. Your head was back to pounding incessantly and the white lights mounted on the ceiling were making it hard to even blink.

The blond at your feet smiles, seemingly ecstatic at having you answer his question, then rises to his feet. He releases your hand, allowing you some room to breathe, then turns to his friend.

“Luffy!”

“Huh? Oh, sorry,” The boy, Luffy, directs at you bluntly. The blond’s expression sours at this and his shoulders slump hopelessly.

“Not like that, you-!”

“It’s okay,” You butt in brusquely, sending the boy a brief smile. The man at your side lightens up at your voice so fast it’s disconcerting, and you make a mental note to keep your distance.

Luffy laughs loudly, picking himself off the floor and excitedly announcing, “See! She’s fine! Now let’s eat!” Then, he’s off, stomping and swinging his arms animatedly. The way he moves is akin to cartoon character, oblivious to his surroundings.

But, wait, _what?_

“Luffy?” You call tentatively, hoping your ears had deceived you. The teenager halts with a questioning hum. “…Your name is Luffy?”

“Yeah,” The boy nods, and you short-circuit right then and there. “Why?”

Oh, _God_ , this is _so_ _not_ what you’d wanted.

Without a way of backing out of the conversation, you attempt to expand on why you’d forgone all your plans to avoid everyone you knew. Not really.

Clearing your throat, you remind your lungs to function. “Oh, um, I’m…” You stammer stupidly, shrinking at how they all stare at you so intensely. Or maybe it’s just the anxiety kicking in. “(name).” Your name slips out of your mouth shyly, your shoulders bunching up anxiously.

Luffy tilts his head to the side, the straw hat on his head shadowing his face. Then, as if a switch has been flipped, realization dawns on him and he points at you excitedly. “You’re Ace’s friend!”

“Yeah,” You reply sheepishly, oddly embarrassed at the mention of the man. “I’m… Ace’s friend.” There’s a good joke. You and Ace, friends… pals… buddies… ha… ha…

“(name),” Luffy confirms firmly, before pointing to his companions. “This is Zoro, Sanji, and Usopp!” The three greet you in their own way. Zoro, the green haired man dressed in a black shirt and washed out jeans, nods once, which you return. Sanji is the blond that’d kneeled before you as if you were a queen. He’s sporting a fancy black suit and a pair of dress shoes so shiny you thought you could see your reflection on them. What’s most strange, though, is the familiarity that radiates off of him in waves.

“You’re…” You begin, eyebrows furrowing as you empty your brain for the right memory, “You’re that guy from the cooking show, aren’t you?”

Sanji’s dreamy expression and gasp take you off guard, “So the beautiful lady has heard of me?” Then, he takes your hand again and bows a second time. “Yes, I am!”

Sanji releases your hand, gushing, blabbering, and so happy you don’t have the heart to tell him that the only reason you knew him was because you decided not to sleep.

Admittedly, you knew nothing about him or his show. The fact that you had it on this morning was pure coincidence and that’s not the most shocking part. This blond looks like he’s in his early twenties, and the fact that he has a TV show at his age is damn impressive.

You chuckle awkwardly, unused to such actions from a person, then focus on the individual hanging out in the back.

“And I’m assuming you’re Usopp?” You prompt, earning a vigorous round of nods and a confident stance.

“T-That I am!” He declares proudly, and you can see that it’s an act right away. You decide to go along with it anyway if only to be on good terms with these guys. Especially the green-haired one. The guy looks like he can bench press several people without breaking a sweat.

This teenager is scrawny, thin limbed, and slightly taller than you. He has black woolly hair that’s partially covered by an olive bandana and quite the long nose. His wardrobe isn’t too striking; brown overalls and a bag slung around his shoulders. You’d take him for an engineer if you had to guess.

“Well, it was nice meeting you all.” You say, putting a smile on your face to keep them off your back. “Especially the stranger texting me at random intervals of the day,” Luffy laughs, scratching his head again.

“I should go now, though.” Your expression turns apologetic, but as it turns out, you can’t get out of things easily.

“Aw,” Luffy pouts, whining, “But you just got here!”

_Actually, that is not true, seeing as I was here before any of you arrived and you crashed into m-_

“Eat with us!”

“Uhh…” Every word you’ve accumulated over your lifetime escapes out the window while flipping you the bird, leaving you to fend for yourself.

“The beautiful lady cannot eat… eat this!” Sanji exclaims, affronted, gesturing to the restaurant you’d picked. _Why did I pick this one?!_

“Sure she can,” Zoro, surprisingly, pipes in, which seems to infuriate the blond. Without meaning to, you stare at him, and he raises an eyebrow at you. Your eyes snap elsewhere, blush returning full force.

“I mean… I guess I can hang around for a little bit.” You mutter, smiling hesitantly. Luffy and Usopp cheer while Sanji sighs in defeat. Obviously, his standards when it comes to food are high. Zoro crosses his arms with a smirk, showing off the muscles of his arms and chest.

And so, all of you order the things you want. The people at the restaurant seem to know the hyperactive boy and his band of amigos, since they’d taken the time it took to introduce yourselves to make enough food to feed a small country.

Slumping down at a table, you look on as Luffy devours his mountain of food, sipping on your drink. Beside you, Zoro is biting into a hamburger, Usopp doing the same thing while Sanji watches them. He blows a strand of golden hair to the side, arms crossed. The blond grumbles something or other about the quality of the food and you send him a small smile.

Despite the short time you’d known them (literally fifteen minutes), you feel drawn in to their company, at ease. They’re so different from the people you’d dealt with these past couple days it’s refreshing.

Usopp gulps down a bite and begins a tale laden with adventure, hamburger in hand as he gesticulates vividly. At one point, he’s so enthusiastic a piece of tomato from his hamburger hits Sanji’s face. Sanji scolds him loudly, the intruding piece of tomato still glued to his cheek. Usopp, terrified, plucks a napkin off the table and attempts to dab the blond’s face clean, but the man won’t stay still.

You laugh heartily, the sound relieving you of the stress from the past few days. That’s when Luffy chooses to play with his food, and Sanji, the poor guy, is immensely offended. This makes you burst into a fit of giggles as the two bicker back and forth. Even Zoro huffs, mirth in his eyes as he wipes his mouth with a napkin.

Close to half an hour later, you all pack up and throw out your trash. Zoro and Sanji are keen on picking on each other whenever the chance arises. Tossing your cup in the garbage can, you listen to them push each other’s buttons.

You think that cleaning up is your cue to leave, but Luffy is stubborn and wants to know everything about you.

“You’re our friend, now!” That’s all the reasoning he provides and even if it’s not much, it somehow convinces you to stay.

Now, you’re all meandering about the mall, exploring stores and sharing stories of your time here. Sanji shares lots of stories of his cooking show, the passion and love for the art apparent in his baby blue eyes- er… eye? The curtain of blond hair covering half of his face makes it difficult to see his other eye, but… anyway. Some people recognize him and rush over to you all to meet him. Strangely enough, whenever it’s a woman, it’s like the blond can’t function properly. At one point, he takes a picture with two young girls, his arms circling both their shoulders, and he looks like he might explode from the happiness.

“How long have you and Ace been friends?” Luffy shoots the question so suddenly you nearly trip over your feet. You think you hear a huff from Zoro, but you don’t check, choosing to remain ignorant. Instead, you blink at Luffy, (eye colour) eyes wide as you struggle to come up with a reply.

“Uh… a couple of weeks, maybe?” You guess, eying a store as you scour your mind for an exact date. The days had fit together so seamlessly you couldn’t even tell anymore.

Luffy nods, lips pursed as he thinks. You know he’s thinking because he’s humming so loudly people turn their heads toward you all.

“Are you dating?”

This time, you do stumble, spluttering and gaping like a fish as you gawk at the third brother of the crazy group. What is with everyone assuming you’re dating gang members? First Marco, then Ace, who’s gonna be next?

Coughing to dispel the awkwardness, you wave your hands dismissively, face a love shade of red with a hint of what the actual fuck did you just say to me. “No, no! We’re just… uh… friends, Luffy.”

Luffy cocks his head to the side as he stares at you, his brown eyes so innocent you just don’t see how Ace, Sabo, and Luffy are related. His face is rounder, a feature that seems uncharacteristic for someone his age, and he’s at least half a head shorter than you. You can see some of the roundness in Sabo’s face, but Ace, on the other hand, has sharp features and is much taller than his brother.

_How are they even related?_

“But Ace likes you! …Doesn’t he?” Luffy voices his thoughts, and heat invades your cheeks again. What the hell?!

“What? No, he doesn’t.” You chuckle nervously, facing ahead and listening to the other three behind you talk. Luffy, ever so determined, shakes his head the second you finish your sentence. The way his expression changes from childish to serious in two seconds is honest to God terrifying.

“Yeah he does!”

“Okay, _well_ , what makes you think that?” Your heated question only prompts Luffy to open his mouth wide, as if readying himself for a long tirade, before he clamps it shut again. He rubs his chin in thought, humming in that strange way of his. You think you’ve won, but then…

“Well, he got all quiet yesterday when he came home. And, this morning, he kept reading your messages and checking his phone. And when I asked him if he liked you his face turned all red and he threw a pillow at me. And then when I asked him again, he covered his face with his hands and-”

“Luffy, look! It’s Vivi!” Usopp yelled, attracting the attention of a blue-haired girl and your companion. The girl gasped, hands curling into fists as she squeals, a bright smile on her face. Luffy joins in on the fun and runs over to her, and, without a second thought, you whirl around and walk in the opposite direction. You bump shoulders with Zoro, who arches an eyebrow at you before Sanji distracts him with his 100th outburst.

“Oi, stupid Curly Brow, don’t get mad at me! She was the one that bumped into me!”

Their words die away, becoming one with the constant rumble of endless chatter in the mall. You adjust your bag on your shoulders, teeth worrying your lip as you head back in the direction you came. Luffy and his band are far too distracted to chase after you, and so you seize the chance to get away from them.

You don’t waste energy pondering over Luffy’s words. Instead, you find a bench and sit down, your bag occupying the spot beside you. This section of this area is more secluded and less full, which does wonders when it comes to your headache.

Fishing your phone out of your pocket, you check the time and realize you still have a good hour until you have to go to work. It’s a long while, but… maybe if you’re a bit early you can make up for being late a couple of shifts ago.

Feeling a bit more relaxed now that you have an inkling of a plan, you gather your things again and set off.

(x)

You got there 20 minutes early.

After driving home to change into your work clothes, you sped off to your workplace, dreading what was to come. Your shift today would be from 6PM to 1AM and, not only that, but you’re alone.

If that doesn’t scream trouble, then you don’t know what did.

Sighing, you open the door to the building, where another co-worker resides behind the bar. He nods once in your direction and bee-lines to the back to change. You scan the room, noting the few glasses and tables that are in need of cleaning.

_Couldn’t have done it before I got here…?_

Obviously not.

Begrudgingly, you march up to the bar, collecting a few of the glasses and putting them all in a neat group. When you hear the door leading to the back open, you glance up and wave your co-worker goodbye. He returns the gesture and struts right out the door, his own bag slung over his shoulder.

Now by yourself, you take a couple moments to breathe, mentally preparing yourself for the shift ahead. You were going to be leaving at 1AM, which was… okay… You’d done it before, just not with a minor hangover. And definitely not with the threat of gangs around the corner.

You enter the room at the back and drop your bag and coat in a locker. Just like usual, you smooth out any wrinkles on your dress shirt and pants, tighten the leather belt, and slip on your flats. Installed on the inside of the locker is a mirror, one you utilize to half-heartedly fix your hair.

Once finished, you rush back out, hoping that your manager is busy doing paperwork in his office and whatnot. You hadn’t seen him in a while and honestly, you wanted to keep it that way.

You take your place behind the bar, mildly surprised there was no one at this hour but also kind of happy. Even if it would piss off the manager if there weren’t many customers today, you could appreciate it.

You almost feel like opening one of the bottles on the shelf and drinking it, if only to hold onto this serene feeling for a bit longer. Of course, you don’t follow through with that thought process, but you have to admit it’s tempting.

Leaning your weight on the counter, you pull out your phone, needing to kill time somehow. You have no new notifications, but it doesn’t stop you from opening the messaging app.

_-his face turned all red and he threw a pillow at me._

_Oookay_ … not what you’d wanted to think about in the slightest.

Without anything else to distract you, you open up your conversation with Ace- err… with Luffy and read through it. You might’ve been able to act like some teenage girl and found out if what Luffy said was the truth, but… well, the last conversation you had with Ace was when he apologized for dragging you into this whole mess. Not much to dredge up from that awkward exchange.

You shut off your phone and rub your eyes, a tad frustrated. There was no way in actual hell that a gang member has a crush on you. No. You refuse to believe it. It would be the most ridiculous thing; a criminal and a person studying to put criminals in jail, together.

Rolling your eyes, you stuff your device in your pocket, prop your elbow up on the counter, and nestle your chin in your palm.

 _Now_ that _would make a lame story._

(x)

“You lost him?” An incredulous Thatch asks, and Ace shrugged his shoulders, defeat written on his face. He was beyond tired at this point, and it wasn’t even 7PM.

After the attempt at catching Morgan with Marco, they fled the scene, relieved and angered because yes, they’d lost him again.

“And Marco?” Thatch tries again, eyebrows furrowed in concern. Ace tilts his head back, feeling the cushions hug the back of his head. He was sprawled on Thatch’s expensive and overly comfortable couch, an arm thrown over his eyes.

“After we stopped running, he told me to go somewhere safe. I tried arguing, but he wasn’t having it, and so I did as he said.” Ace explained, yawning audibly when he was done speaking. He removed his arm from his face and stared up at his brother. Thatch crossed his arms over his chest, tapping his foot on the carpeted floor.

The man was dressed in a fancy black suit and dress shoes, an outfit Ace hadn’t seen Thatch wear… ever. What was most striking about the whole look were the socks with tiny spatulas he sported. Ace would’ve liked to see them again, just to have a laugh at the absurdity of them.

“So you don’t know where he went?” The older man prompted, and Ace shook his head. Thatch made an uneasy sound, scratching the back of his neck nervously.

“I mean, he said he wasn’t going to try to go after them.” Ace carried on, gears in his head spinning as he remembered. “There were too many.” The raven-haired man sat up, grunting when his back popped. He glanced down at his hands, then at the injuries he sustained from the fight in the parking lot. They’d all but healed, with only a few scabs here and there.

“Then he’s probably at home with Pops.” Thatch offered to no one in particular, thinking out loud. “He’d want to hear about the whole thing, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Ace agreed, voice lowered. Thatch snapped out of his daze to focus on him, and he cocked his head to the side.

“You alright, Ace?” Thatch asked, rounding the coffee table to sit down beside him. Ace shrugged a second time, pinching the bridge of his nose as he closed his eyes.

“…”

They sat in silence for a minute or two until Thatch piped up again, worried.

“Okay, kiddo, out with it. You know I’m here for you, right?”

Ace exhaled, eyebrows pinching together in exasperation. He mumbled something about not being a kid, before lowering his hands.

The thought of opening up was still foreign to him, easily forgotten, but with Thatch here, he knew he wasn’t going to be able to keep things secret. The man constantly managed to wheedle things out of a person somehow, no matter how jaded they were.

“…I thought he was going to try and take them on alone.” Ace confessed meekly. Marco’s hardened gaze swims into view, then his stance, and then his grip on the pistol he’d brought along. Tense, collected, ready. Prepared to do whatever he thought necessary, even if it meant putting himself at risk. He sighs again, shaky and exhausted.

“Aw, Ace,” Thatch wrapped an arm around his shoulders, shaking him slightly, “You know Marco’s too smart for that.”

“Yeah.”

“Even so, that turkey is a jerk for making you worry like that.”

Ace laughs breathily and smiles, eyes trained on the floor. “Yeah.”

Thatch’s chest puffs up happily when Ace smiles, eyes shining with mirth as the man’s grip around his shoulders tightens.

“Who’s the jerk?” A new voice calmly interrupts, and Ace startles at the sound. Thatch raises an eyebrow, his head swivelling to the window, where a certain blond is _smoothly_ making his entrance by crawling through it.

“You could’ve knocked. Or, you know, used the door like us normal people.” Thatch chides, craning his neck to look outside. Ace glances up at Marco, waving at him. Marco smiles wearily and flops down on the couch beside them.

“Too tired for that ~yoi.” Marco dismisses Thatch’s offer with a wave, and Thatch appears utterly bemused for a second as if to say ‘ _Are you kidding me right now?_ ’. Then his expression morphs into irritation when Marco doesn’t stand.

“Nuh-uh, you don’t get to sit down. You’re going to clean up my kitchen.” Thatch reaches over and roughly pokes Marco in the leg. The blond groans, but a sly smile plays at his lips.

“You mean you haven’t cleaned it up ~yoi?”

“Of course not,” Thatch huffs indignantly, “I was waiting for you to get here so you could do it. I have to get going, anyway.”

“Oh, right,” Ace straightens up, gazing up at Thatch, “How’s Izo?” He inquires, hand gripping the couch cushions anxiously.

“He’s better,” Thatch states firmly, completely assured,  and Ace can see the relief in his eyes. “He’s better and also sorry for almost shooting you.” He adds, chortling. Ace joins him.

“That’s good to hear,” Ace grins, and Thatch reciprocates the gesture with a nod. “Have fun.”

“Thanks, lil’ bro, I will.” The man with the pompadour says, ruffling Ace’s head with a large hand, which he smacks away with a laugh. Then, he directs at Marco, “You better clean my kitchen, Marco, or you won’t hear the end of it.”

“Yeah, yeah…”

Satisfied with Marco’s reply, Thatch inhales deeply and pulls his phone out of his pocket. He taps on several things then brings it up to his ear as he walks away. Ace can briefly hear him greeting Izo, gushing and ranting about picking him up soon. The door opens, and with one last smile in their direction, Thatch walks out.

With the cheery man gone, things go back to being silent. It’s not awkward — Ace is with Marco, somebody he trusts indefinitely — but it’s not a silence that’s comfortable, either. Tension lurks in the corners and crawls up the walls until it engulfs the two of them. Ace wants to talk about what happened, but Marco appears content, with his head leaned back and eyes shut.

They sit like that for a little while, each lost in their own thoughts. Or at least, that's what Ace thinks. He still has trouble reading Marco even after all the time he’s spent with his elder brother.

Ace deems it best to let Marco rest. He knows that Marco hasn’t slept properly there past few days and things had been hectic. It wouldn’t shock him if he hadn’t slept at all yesterday. He carefully rises from his seat, sparing Marco a quick glance before heading into the kitchen for something to eat.

Glancing around, Ace searches for the mess Thatch had been complaining about since he first dragged his feet through the door. The second he’d crossed the threshold, he’d flopped down on the couch, so he hadn’t really looked in here.

Strangely enough, he sees nothing.

It’s odd, but then again, Marco is sneaky. The man doesn’t pull of pranks often, not like him or Haruta or Thatch, but he had his moments. Sometimes, they were typical pranks, while on other occasions…

Ace slowly cracks open one of the cupboards. It’s filled with plates and bowls, all matching in their intricate, light blue design. At the top, a few glasses sit, suspiciously dirty.

Reaching up, he extracts a plate from the cupboard, and a smile instantly lights up his features.

There are seeds stuck to the bottom and top of the plate. Checking a bowl, he sees seeds stuck inside too. He gently grabs another bowl and discovers the same thing inside of it. It’s not that neat of a job in fact, Ace can see the cheap glue Marco used, dried and lumpy in some places. Seeds have been tossed haphazardly and some bowls have more seeds than others.

Overall, Ace is impressed. Briefly, he wondered where Marco got the idea to sabotage Thatch’s kitchen in this way.

Sad thing was, he had to clean up now. That's the downside about pranks.

Placing the plate he’d picked on the counter, he re-enters the living room, shocked to see Marco staring out the window. There’s a pensive look on his face that Ace wants to wipe off, tired of seeing his brother scrounging his mind for options. For the next plan.

“I thought you fell asleep,” Ace admits casually, approaching the blond. Marco shrugs, smiling placidly at him.

“I’m not getting any proper sleep until I clean up this mess ~yoi.” Marco replies, watching as Ace falls back on the couch with a resounding sigh. Ace gets the feeling that he’s not talking about Thatch’s kitchen, but he guides the conversation in that direction anyway.

“Yeah, got a bit carried away in there.” Ace chuckles forcibly, motioning to the kitchen with a jerk of his head.

If Marco notices his attempts at switching the mood from gloomy to something more tolerable, he doesn’t say anything.

“…”

“Marco,” Ace calls softly, fixing his gaze on his palms again. He twists his hands, anxious as he waits for a response. None comes, which isn’t a surprise, but he turns to look at his older brother anyway.

When he does so, Ace huffs soundlessly, shaking his head. So much for not getting any proper sleep, huh…

“Sleep well, you bird.”

(x)

Work was… how to put it…

_Normal?_

You supposed it was, seeing as there were no gang members scaring away your customers. There were a few individuals that alarmed you on more than one occasion, but they turned out to be drunk or just… normal.

Sure, there were a few stray hands trying to cop a feel – hands that you avoided skilfully, might you add – but aside from that, it felt relatively okay. That’s not to say you were comfortable with those people doing that sort of thing, but it was something you could  _actually handle_.

These past few days, things have felt like they’re out of your control, so being able to just glare, threaten somebody and have it work, and walk away feeling like you’d defended yourself… it was quite invigorating. You didn’t feel like a child being led far from danger with her thumb shoved in her mouth that ignored everything around her. You had a voice.

It was now midnight and you had an hour left to your shift. Most people had gone home, but there were still a few stragglers draped over the tables. You took advantage of the hush in the room, biting your lip as you cleaned the place up.

Spilled drinks under tables proved to be the biggest challenge, seeing as there were men and women snoring away on top of them. But, aside from those, people behaved themselves and abstained from wrecking the place.

Needless to say, you were grateful. You didn’t what came over the public today, but nobody tried to fuck up your day more than it was, so you’re not going to question it.

Snatching an old rag off the counter, you wipe it down. There’s a man with his face buried in his arms, asleep and dead to the world, and you make sure to avoid him as best you can. Not just because he’s resting (even though this was a bar, not a hotel), but because it’s Morgan’s stool he’s sitting on.

It wasn’t uncommon for a regular to stop coming by for a couple of days, but still… You had the feeling that something was not quite right.

Well, nothing was _quite right_ in your life right now. Things were more chaotic than they’d ever been.

But this was different.

Drumming your fingers on the counter, you check the time on your phone. There’s only half an hour until closing time; it’d be best if you sent these people home sooner than later.

One by one, you roused the stragglers into consciousness. Some cursed at you and tried to shove you away, but you remained stubborn. You phoned several taxis for those individuals and provided a glass of water to those that were less aggressive. A woman threw an arm around your waist and nuzzled her face into your side, which was awkward as hell but not the worst. She stumbled out of the bar with a cheer, a bottle in her hand as she climbed into the backseat of a taxi. And then that was that.

You lingered until closing time, ensuring everything was in order and you weren’t going to be in trouble the next day. Then, when your bag was back on your shoulders and you were finished, you exited the building.

Before work, seeing as you had plenty of extra time before your shift, you’d scoped out an area away from the alleyway you’d found the body in. It’d been annoying, since you’d been parking along that part of the city for God knew how long, but necessary. _Crucial_ , if one wanted to be all fancy and dramatic. Considering the fact that your life may be in danger, it’s fitting.

You cross the street, the tapping of your feet deadened by your wariness. Even if it had been a good day, you weren’t taking any chances. This part of the city wasn’t fresh in your brain. You’d tried to memorize it, but there were still things that flew over your head no matter how much you studied the map.

Still, you weren’t going to end up lost. You know the way well enough and your desire for at least ten hours of sleep will keep you from making stupid decisions. 

Which is exactly why when you hear a distant, popping sound rupture the silence, you don’t panic. Your mind immediately jumps to the conclusion that _holy shit it’s a gun get outta there you’re gonna die,_ and your heart lurches in your chest, but you _don’t panic._ You absolutely refuse to do such a thing when you’re so close to your car, so close to driving home and making it through another day.

Even with this thought process, you can’t help but speed up slightly. You’re not panicking, yeah, but you’re also not gonna stick around. That’d be like holding up a huge sign with _MUG ME_ written on it in big red letters.

You pass by an alleyway (goddamnit all), where a few voices can be heard.

You already know what the means, so you breezily make your way past it, hand clenching and unclenching around the straps of your bag.

“Dude, this is all I have.” A female voice announces angrily.

“It’s not enough.” A far more relaxed male quips back.

“ _Bullshit!_ You told me last week that you wanted _this_ much!”

“Yeah, well it’s not enough now.”

_Keep walking, (name). Just a drug dealer and his compadre. Nothing to worry about. Keep walking. Keep walking._

“Give me what you owe me and I’ll give you what you want.” The male suggests, the mockery in his voice palpable.

 _Keep walking, (name)_.

“I _am_ trying to give you what I ‘ _owe you_ ’, you dick! You’re the one that’s being a…”

Their voices disappear, lost to your ears as you hurry in the direction of your car. Thanks to your anxiety, your mind was working quicker, so things were becoming easier to remember. You focus on your steps, trying your hardest to keep them reasonably quiet.

And, just as you feel your shoulders gradually losing tension...

 **BANG**.

You whirl around, shoulders tensing up instantly as you clap a hand over your mouth. If that’s what you thought it was, you were going to fucking cry.

And just like that, it’s dead quiet again.

Your ears strain to listen for every sound, and what you hear makes your face pale.

A person gurgles, the sound sending disgusted shivers up your spine. Goosebumps dot your skin and your brain is strangely numb. Eyes wide, you listen to the sound of somebody falling to the ground, their hand the only thing visible from your position. Their fingers are outstretched as they try to reach for something, anything that will save them. They curl into the concrete, shaking in what seems to be rage, before they hesitantly go limp.

_Not again not again not again not again not again-_

The person is dragged back by what you assume is their ankles into the murkiness of the alley. Their hand disappears, and you inch back, your hand muffling your gasp for air.

The sound is _awful_. The way the person is dragged, and the drawn-out sound of gravel and other trash being disturbed because of their weight is awful _._

You blink as the body is dropped with a sound that cracks against your eardrums almost painfully. Your eyes sting from staring, wide-eyed and so _stupidly_ at what was going on. To make matters even worse, footsteps from within the alleyway are growing louder.

_They’ll kill me. They’ll kill me if they see I was here._

Without another second to waste, you turn back and flee, your legs buzzing with bursts of adrenaline. Your mind is fuzzy and dizzy, and you want to look behind you, but you know that if you do that you are going to die.

_Call the cops, (name), call the fucking cops!_

You shake your head with your eyes screwed shut, whimpering. You can’t do that. The person would hear you speaking into the phone and you ’d die _._ They wouldn’t just kill you, they’d probably make sure you suffer the entire time it took for you to fall into eternal sleep.

You don’t hear anything around you as you run, making a sharp turn as your car floats into view. The means of escape spurs you on, and you force your legs to carry you closer, faster,to _not_ stop because if you do you’re done for.

_(name)._

You flinch, rummaging through your pockets for your car keys. Frantically, you press the button that unlocks your chevrolet and throw the door open. Your body isn’t even listening anymore. It’s on automatic; you don’t know what you’re doing.

You insert your car keys in the keyhole, and with a twist, the car roars to life. The headlights illuminate what’s in front of you, and you spare that area a look that lasts a fraction of a second. _Nobody there. Nobody there. Run._

Backing out of your spot, you will your car to move faster as you enter a street, any street, and speed off.

You want nothing more than to call the cops. The need to scream at them everything that’s happened to you is so overwhelming you can’t focus on anything else. Two voices in your mind clash, howling options that contradict the other’s as you turn into a street you vaguely recognize.

_Call the cops!_

_You can’t do that, just suck it up and deal with it._

The building you live at comes into view, and you use what strength you have left to direct your car into the parking lot. This place brings no comfort. None at all.

You’re so overworked, your nerves are so frayed, and yet your brain still finds it in itself to smack you with a memory. The fight that took place between Ace and that other man that you’d never seen again replays in fragments in front of your eyes. The chevrolet squeals as you stomp on the breaks and it comes to an unwanted halt. Quickly, you search the parking lot and pick the nearest spot to park your car in.

You probably do a sloppy job, but when you park in between two vans, nothing else but getting home matters. You’re so _close_.

For the sake of regaining some control over your thoughts, you grip your phone. The comfort it brings when it’s in your grasp is short lived as your brain berates you again, ordering you to not call the cops.

_If I can’t call the cops, then who the fuck am I going to call, you obstinate organ._

You throw the door open, scrambling out of your car with your phone pressed to your chest. You hadn’t even taken your backpack off in the vehicle.

Running towards the entrance, you shove the doors open, entering the lobby at such a fast pace you trip over the carpet. The people behind the front desk send you incredulous looks at your entrance. You ignore them, bracing your hands against your knees as you greedily gulped air into your lungs.

“Uh… miss?”

Your eyes snap upwards at the inquiry, and you meet eyes with one of the secretaries. He looks at you like you’ve grown a second head, and you straighten up, mouth opening to explain yourself. The words refuse to come out of your mouth, and you shake your head, inhaling deeply. You send him what you hope looks like a smile.

“Are you… okay?” The man, around your age, carries on. You’re about to shake your head but catch yourself in the last moment. Forcing a nod, you sniffle and roll your shoulders.

“Yeah… just… I was just _jogging_.” You lie, smiling crookedly at the poor, unaware, person in front of you. You’re almost jealous.

“Oh. I see.” He nods, finally smiling a little. At least he believes you. 

You pat down your shirt, nodding back. The smile on your face is so fake it physically pains your cheeks to keep it on your face. Not only that, you probably look insane.

“Uh, well, sorry to.. Y’know.” You ramble, waving your hands as you begin walking away. Before you can even take a step though, the man reaches out and stops you.

“Wait!” He exclaims, blocking your path by planting himself in front of you. You shrink, eyebrows raised to the ceiling in surprise as you step back cautiously.

“...Yes?”

“Would you happen to be (name)?” _Okay. What’s this about. What did I do._

Nerves rattled, you regard him suspiciously for a second or two. You just escaped a failed drug deal and now you’re being interrogated. Your life just keeps getting better and better.

“N… yes. Yes, I am. Why?”

“Oh!” The man’s face brightens. You don’t understand why he’s so surprised. “I was just asking because yesterday we had a man walk in here, claiming he was coming to see you. I was just going to ask if you were friends?”

_What? A man coming up to see me? What the fuck?_

“Oh… uhm…” You dug through your memories, plastering a smile on your face as you come up with absolutely nothing. Why can’t you remember? You run through yesterday’s events, even if it is galling and stressful. Sabo’s sudden bow, your breakdown, and you falling asleep are the most prominent, but… that's it?

Perhaps it was somebody else? Maybe you're the wrong (name)? If there's another (name) in this building, could you switch lives with her? That'd be nice.

“Oh, yeah, I know him.” You lie through your teeth, the words bitter and acidic on your tongue. It’s not like you hate lying. It’s the fact that you can’t remember shit that’s so agitating. “That was just…”

_Who was it?!_

You blink when you think back to your keys and the blanket, then again when the voice from before echoes in your head.

_(name), ~yoi… Go back to sleep, (name)..._

“Marco.” You state in a bewildered whisper. “That was... Marco.”

The man tilts his head to the side, lips pursed in thought. “I see. I was just asking to tell you that we’d like it if you could escort your friends upstairs. We’ve been seeing lots of unknown arrivals and none of those people have a room rented. We don’t want people we're not familiar with walking in and out so freely.”

You wipe the shock from your face with a hand, dragging said limb down the side of your face. “Oh, of course. Not a problem."

“Thank you.” The man says sincerely, “Have a good night, (name).” And just like that, he struts back to the front desk, leaving you to walk to the elevator with a blank look on your face.

The way up is strange. It feels like you’re teleporting from one place to the next. One moment you’re pressing the second floor button, the next you’re in front of your door, and then in your bedroom

You drop your bag on the floor, ground the palm of your hands into your eyes, and keel over.

_Of course it’d been him._

Surprisingly, you’re not mad.

In fact, you’re relieved.

_If he brought me my car and gave me my blankets… that means he’s not mad._

You release the watery laugh rumbling in your chest, eyes screwed shut as you make your way to your bed. Falling on top of it, you curl up, hugging your middle.

Hurray for living another day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah... you're down here now.
> 
> I tried to make the chapter extra long for y'all, seeing as I have been away and will continue to be for the rest of the month ;m;
> 
> I have to say the ending was a huge struggle this time. I wanted to end the chapter another way, but my hands slipped and I brought Marco up again. *shrugs* It's okay though. I wanted to show some sort of peace/truce blooming between the two of you and this is how I did it lmao.
> 
> If you have any criticism for me, toss it at me right away (nicely tho plz im only human).
> 
> Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed another case of word vomit from yours truly lol.  
> Have a good one.
> 
> [Also, I just have to mention this: my main goal for this chapter was to use humor as a mask to sort of hide the fact that something might happen in one scene. That's the scene with Marco and Thatch on the phone talking. I also tried to use humor to drive the story onwards but idk. I'd like some feedback on that scene. I like it a lot, but I also want to hear what you guys think? idk man i need some sleep. sorry if I make absolutely no sense lmao. <3]
> 
> [Also #2: Do you like the direction the story is going? I'm just wondering because I might have to think about the plot for a little while. Again, I've never written full length stories so that might take a bit. Thank you for reading :')]


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *throws chapter at you and runs* Take it! Take it away from me!
> 
> Okay, so, I don't want to get too carried away, but... yeah. It's been a while, huh? Yeah. The reason for my absence has been a serious, /very/ major case of writer's block, which is why I took so long to type this up. It's been a journey finishing this thing, and although it needs some polishing, I'm happy to finally have it done. I found it hard to write, but hopefully, it is still enjoyable. What I also found was that I am horrified of messing this story up - like really bad. For the longest time, I didn't know how to start this damn thing and when I did figure it out, my fingers would constantly freeze because I just didn't know how to pace everything. I had to take a big chunk of it out because the section just wasn't doing anything for the plot, and that made me kind of sad because I was proud of it. :'( 
> 
> Ah, well. Sorry for taking so long, you guys. This one was a real struggle to write! Aside from that, there's nothing else going on in my life. I'm busy studying and doing things, but now that I have that going on for me, I feel more motivated to use my spare time to write.
> 
> Anyway, this chapter might be kind of rushed near the end. I don't know for sure, but you might! So, if you do, feel free to drop a comment. I'm considering re-writing some parts, but that... haha, that would probably kill me a little. There's lots of Sabo in this one (finally), which I hope makes up for the tardiness a little. There are a lot of text message sections in this one, I'm afraid, so if you don't enjoy those very much... well, ;m; 
> 
> Uh... hm... nothing else to say, really. I'll see you guys down at the bottom of the page.
> 
> You can read on now!

It was knocking that successfully roused you from your fitful sleep. Well, not knocking, per se, more like… banging. At first, the only thing that registered inside your brain was confusion as you kicked the covers off you, then alarm. You didn’t remember planning anything with anyone. And that’s because you _didn’t_.

A voice emanating from the hallway called out to you urgently, followed by another series of raps at the door.

You cast your room a glance, mind foggy and events muddled, when the knocking returned and, _ugh,_ stayed. Planting your feet on the carpeted floor, you throw on the nearest shirt and shorts and drag your feet to the entrance. The voice becomes comprehensible as you near, still yelling your name in between each series of thumps.

Your hand gripped the doorknob tentatively when there was a sudden pause. It stretched on for an awkward amount of time, leaving you unsure. Was it really worth it? _Yes. Probably. Who knows._

In the end, you decide to open the door in case it was the landlord because if it was, you’d rather not risk being kicked out.

The second you twist the knob, a hand smacked against the wood and tried to push it from the other side. Out of pure instinct, you retaliated, slamming it shut and locking it with a yelp. Your ears throbbed at the thunderous sound, but you shook the discomfort off. You kept your hand on the handle to block the stranger from jiggling it. This time, there's no lengthy pause as the person begins complaining.

“( _name_ )!” The voice whined, lengthening the last syllable of your name. “Open the door already! It’s Ally!” _…Oh_.

“Ally?” You parroted back, which prompted an annoyed groan from the other woman.

“ _Yes_.” She stressed, muffled by the barrier that had been protecting you oh, so well from any interaction. Although you can’t see her, you know she has her arms crossed over her chest. You’ve seen customers anger the short woman, and it was what she always did when they persistently irritated her.

You sighed, distancing yourself from the door and unlocking it. The click was enough to invite the short woman inside, visage scrunched up in concern. She barrelled towards you, hands digging into your shoulders as she scrutinized you from your head down to your toes.

“Oh my God, where have you _been_?” She cried. Your eyebrows furrowed. Ally had gotten off of work not that long ago. Peeking out from beneath a jacket were her work clothes and the flats she donned had been replaced with a pair of taller heels.

“In… my apartment.” You responded plainly, gesturing to your surroundings without breaking eye contact.

“Well, obviously.” She stepped back with a huff. “I can tell you haven’t gone outside in days.” You blinked, cogs whirring inside your head as your brain struggled to conjure up an excuse.

“I’ve been working,” You lied, making your way towards the kitchen. Ally trailed after you with another huff after shoving the door shut.

“ _Riiight_ ,” She drawled, “…working on what?” Ally played along, finding your game very entertaining. The frown and the knitted eyebrows were a dead giveaway.

You clicked your tongue, standing in the centre of the kitchen. “Ally,” You waved your hands in exasperation, staring at her. “You haven’t been to my apartment in ages. Whatever you forgot isn’t–”

“You called in sick for two shifts.” She cut you off, putting an abrupt end to your sentence.

“Yes? Because it’s true?” You returned, unsure. Sure, you hadn’t been dealing with a cold or some horrendous injury, but the past events have been enough to keep you bed-ridden for a while. On the first day out of both school and work, you’d barely made it to the bathroom without feeling dizzy and exhausted. Ally’s facial expression didn’t budge.

“It’s almost been a week, (name). And you haven’t answered any of my messages.” She fished her phone out of her pocket, unlocking it to reveal the messages you’d ignored or slept through. You shoulders slumped at the sight of the unanswered texts.

“…I’m sorry,” You muttered eventually with a one-shoulder shrug, dispirited. It was Ally’s turn to sigh, putting her phone back in her pocket.

“It’s okay. I was just worried, that’s all. You just sort of… disappeared, y’know?” She replies, copying your half-assed attempt at a shrug with a sheepish smile.

 _I kinda wish I could._ You thought to yourself, mirroring her smile slowly. It doesn’t reach your eyes.

The conversation faded for a short while as you both gathered your thoughts. You turned to grab a glass from the cupboard, only to remember that they were all in the dishwasher. Maybe… you’ve been drinking a bit too much water.

Well, at least you’re not neglecting your body. There’s  _that_ to be proud about, right?

“What even happened?” Ally asked. Involuntarily, you tensed, mind offering memories of  _all_ the things that have been haunting you.

Apparently, Ally must’ve sensed your reluctance, because she edged closer. You held back a grimace, not quite managing it as you concealed your face by focusing elsewhere.

“I don’t want to talk about it…” You murmured, because you honestly fucking didn’t. Screw whatever Marco and his… his… _Whitebeard_ gang said. You didn’t have the energy to tell anybody. Things had been relatively peaceful now that you were in your apartment and going back to the mindset from, _hell_ , a day ago was not in you interests.

Thankfully, Ally didn’t try to force the information out of you. She appeared to have several questions, but she held her tongue. Instead, after pondering over it for some time, she began ushering you out of your kitchen.

“Go on,” She said for the second time when you tried to argue. “You need to go out.” You shot her a look, scowling.

“I can’t.” You argued, motioning to yourself. It wasn’t so much your appearance – which consisted of a pair of old shorts and a shirt you’d been wearing for the past two days – it was more so the fact that you didn’t want to see _anyone_. Ally was one thing, gang members and drug sellers with their customers following close by were another.

“Well, you can’t stay cooped up in here forever.” She retorted, although her voice had taken a lighter tone. You almost snorted at what she said; haven’t you heard that one before? “Look, (name), I get that you’re tired, but maybe going out will be good for you. We don’t even have to go anywhere far. A café, maybe, I don’t know.”

“I _know that,_ Ally,” You fell on the couch with a sigh, bouncing once or twice with the cushions. The seat squeaked annoyingly each time you did so. “And what do you mean ‘ _we’_?” Ally crossed her arms and shrugged.

“As you said, we haven’t hung out in a while.”

You stared at her blankly, glancing away a couple times as you chew over her words, hands on the couch cushions to stabilize yourself.

Finally, after what feels like forever, you throw your head back and groan, “Fii _iine_ …” Then, you stand up, hurrying to your bathroom to clean yourself up as best you can. You shut the door gently and rest your forehead against it for a bit, breathing.

You had to go outside.

You hiss a curse, the mere thought of leaving your apartment tying a knot in your stomach. Go outside… for _what_? What was there for you out there? Trouble in the form of intimidating people that are going to ‘help’ or kill you, that’s what.

You unglue your forehead from the door, meeting eyes with your reflection, who regarded you with her dark circles and messy hair.

A weary grunt echoes in the bathroom, bouncing off the walls. You scratch the nape of your neck, grabbing your hairbrush to tame the beast on top of your head. You’re far too tired to really bother fixing up your hair, but you do try.

When your hair seems reasonable, you turn on the faucet and splash your face with water to freshen up. You thought about pinching your cheeks to feign a more lively appearance but decided against it. You’re not going somewhere fancy. Besides, you don’t want to be a fake.

You step back outside, massaging an ache in your shoulder. Vaguely, you remember the bruises and the cut under your chin. They’d healed well, which was kind from whatever deity had been watching over you as of late. The cut Marco had treated was nothing more than a small scab and the bruises were beginning to change to yellow, so that was good too.

Entering your room, you locate a pair of jeans in your closet and a random white shirt splayed over the bed. You drift through the small space, changing as you grab some socks and a pair of sneakers. Your phone sits on the nightstand, charging and with no new notifications. Good.

You checked your hair in the mirror, again, brushing a few stray strands back into place only to sigh when they jumped back up. Scurrying to your closet, you grabbed a black cap and a brown bomber jacket and threw both items on. The weather hadn’t been too atrocious, but it still wasn’t warm enough for one to go out without something protecting them from the cold.

“All right,” You called as you emerged from your room. Ally glanced up from her phone. “I’m ready.”

“Nice. Let’s go!” She chirped, hopping off the couch and leading the way to the door. You followed, fidgeting with your cap fretfully as you swung the door shut and said good-bye to you apartment. In the hall, the both of you fall into a steady pace.

“There’s a café that I’ve been going to recently. It’s nearby.” Ally explains. “They have _the_ _best_ hot chocolate.” You hummed, stuffing your hands in your pockets and gazing down at your feet. Your heels scuffed the carpeted floor with each step you took, mood souring and whatever vestiges of energy you had dissolving.  

You didn’t really feel like entering random coffeehouses to taste-test their drinks. But then again, you didn’t know where else you could go, so you might as well let Ally have her fun.

Seeing your lack of responses as a sign to cease talking for the sake of talking, Ally falls silent. She leads you to the elevator and presses the button. While you wait for the machine to arrive to your floor, you sense her worried stares and hide your chin beneath your collar.

_Please, don’t ask._

You repeat the same thought like a mantra, eyes fixed on the floor. You outline the patterns woven into the fabric with your eyes to distract yourself, not wanting to accidentally meet Ally’s and ruin everything.

When the doors _ding_ and swish apart, you quickly enter the elevator and press the button to go to the main floor. Unfortunately, it seemed you moved a little too swiftly, because the doors were closing before Ally could even begin to follow. Thankfully, she enters in time, but not before shooting you a disconcerted look.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

You don’t look at her, sucking in a deep, steadying breath. “Yeah… sorry, I’m just… I’m having a bit of an off day.”

The elevator jolts and begins its slow descent, whirring in the background. The sound is heavy on your eardrums, almost like it’s plugging your ears.

“I can see that.” She mumbles, hand wandering into her pocket to pull out her phone. Even with the device in her hand, she carries on. “Have you been sleeping well lately? You look really tired.”

“I’ve been staying up.” You state with a hint of a shrug. The elevator grinds to a halt and reveals the lobby. Ally doesn’t reply to your statement, which you’re more than okay with as you both quickly exit the building.

Once you’re both outside, you look at her expectantly. “Where to now?”

“…That way,” She points in some direction, urging you to start the trek. You do so without another peep.

The streets are busy today. There are cars trundling by and people are up and about. Ahead, there’s a group of men and women chatting obnoxiously over where they’re going to go. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barks and a querulous child whines to their parent. You pass by a restaurant that has its door open, allowing the chatter of its customers and the smell of food to waft outside.

It’s normal. Hell, you’d even go so far as to say that it’s something you’d missed.

And yet it’s not.

After being exposed to the absolute wonders the city has to offer at night and the whole gang business, it’s _not_ normal. Every alley you saunter by is more daunting, sinister. The perfect places for someone to sit back, think about their plans, and pick a target. It feels like everyone that passes you is craning their neck to judge you for what you’d done or what you hadn’t done. Every visage that you scrutinize is riddled with new emotions – sadness, laughter, a quirk in their brow or tightness in their jaw. All coming and going with the chance of being an act.

Worst of all, you know that if you allow such thought processes to crowd your mind, you’re never going to face the world again. And yet you also know that it can’t be helped.

Ally and you make a couple turns, wordless and a bit uptight. You can see that she’s concerned, but it looks like she’s given up. Then again, there’s no knowing with her. She might try to wheedle the information out of you when you reach the café.

And, speaking of…

“This is the place.” Ally grasped the door handle and heaved the door open, holding it so you can enter first.

You thank her, scanning your new surroundings warily as you unzip your jacket. People sit idly as they eat and sip on their drinks. Ally walked in after you, grinning while making her way to a vacant table. The both of you settle down, draping your jackets over your seats.

“So, what do you think?” She asks when you sit down with a hefty sigh, grin still on her face. You survey the room, biting your lip pensively.

It’s cozy if you’re honest. Sunlight is filtering through a large set of windows by the door, giving the room a soft glow. There are dark wooden tables scattered throughout the room, accompanied by a couple chairs. Near the windows, there are a few couches and smaller tables for those that wish to sit alone while drinking their steamy beverage. The counter is rounded and a greyish marble. From your position, you can see the menus written on chalkboards for the drinks and sandwiches they offer. It seems the entire wall was made for writing, as there are a few odd doodles here and there.

"It's... pretty cool." You answer after a moment, lips quirking into a soft smile.

“Right?” Ally gushed, waving a hand as if showing off a beautiful house. You nod, impressed with her discovery.

"Well, I guess we should see what they have," You muse, eyes befalling the menus by the counter. Ally nods in agreement and you rise from your chairs, marching over to the menus. After reading it once or twice, you pick a hot chocolate and Ally a cappuccino.

"Hello! How can I help you?” A redhead lays her hands on the counter, beaming. You jump, clutching your shirt in shock. God, you hadn’t even heard her approach you both. Ally coolly reciprocates the woman’s gesture, making you wonder if she’d known of the redhead’s presence. You honestly did not see or hear her at all.

“Hi! Uh… right, I’ll have a cappuccino. My friend here will have a hot chocolate.” Ally orders, glancing at you to confirm, to which you nod to. She faces the redhead again with a smile on her face.

You linger in the back while they speak, searching your pockets for your wallet then realizing you’d left without it. Your face scrunches up as you hiss a series of colourful words under your breath, teeth worrying your lip.

The woman behind the counter tells Ally how much your order costs. Ally turns to you a second time.

Shyly, you speak. “I forgot my wallet at home…”

Ally blinks and then shakes her head as she drops the money in the woman’s palm, smile still in place.

When you are finished ordering and have sat down again, that’s when Ally breaks. She giggles when you cross your arms and almost _pout_ , stubbornly avoiding eye contact. This continues on for thirty seconds, and when she sees that you’re still upset over it, she sighs.

“(name), seriously, it’s fine.” She chuckles, tucking some blonde hair behind her ear. “It’s not that big of a deal. You can pay me back later if it’s bothering you _that_ much.”

Of course, you’re going to repay her. Knowing your brain, it wouldn’t quit feeling guilty until you’d paid her back and snuck some extra change as an apology.  

There’s a lull in the conversation, one you don’t mind in the slightest. Your brain is damn near frantic since your wallet is at home, but outwardly, you’re fine. You press the power button on your phone, reading the numbers on the screen. Lately, you’ve been waking up rather late. And while that had been nice and all, it’s come to bite you now. You’re so used to getting little sleep that getting a full seven to eight hours has made your brain slow.

After inputting your code, you tap on the messaging app, an action that is routine at this point. At the very top of the screen sits the message that sent you spiralling down into a fit of unbridled panic. Second is Ace, with Luffy’s messages showing up in the little preview. And third is Ally.

So, really… nothing new. Not surprising, honestly.

You tap on Ace’s name, eyes skimming over the final messages you and his younger brother shared. Scrolling up, you read the messages where he’s on and on about how Ace forgot his phone.

 _They’re so innocent,_ is your only thought. So innocent it almost pains you to read them, because just how does that happen? You’d think that, since Ace is a criminal, his younger brother would’ve taken a similar path. And yet they’re so different in person. Their personalities clash in so many ways, but they’re clearly very close.

Should you tell him? Should you tell Ace that you met Luffy? Would it be weird if you just… sent him a message? _Yes, it would. Of course it would._

“Oh, thank you!” Ally’s voice cuts the silence hanging over your heads, and you tear your gaze away from Ace’s contact at lightning speed. You sit up, realizing you’d been slouching over your device, and open your mouth to graciously thank whoever brought you your drink when-

 _For_ fuck’s _sakes._

_Does everyone and their mother live around this area?!_

“Sa-” His name is lodged in your throat. You clamp your mouth shut, eyes wide as you meet his blue ones. He definitely wasn’t expecting to see you again, that much is apparent. His lips are upturned in a smile that hardened the moment he recognized you.

 _Now_ , your brain pipes up, _this could go two ways. Either he dodges the most awkward interaction you could both endure, or he subjects you to the torture of socializing._

Thankfully – maybe he’d read your mind, maybe he was as bad at socializing as you – he ignores you and nods to Ally.

“No problem,” Sabo replies kindly, directing his eyes back to you and bowing his head somewhat. You watch him go with bated breath, eyes flicking between the steaming, innocent drink in front of you to _him._

 _That was one hell of a bullet that we just dodged._ You think, hands curling around the mug. The warmth seeps into your palms, relaxing you for what could’ve been a second.

“Who was that?”

You bristle, freezing in your spot and murmuring in warning, “Ally…”

The blonde puts a finger to her bottom lip, humming thoughtfully. She snaps her fingers when her mind reaches a conclusion, and you almost run for the hills when her eyes zero in on you again. “He’s the guy you met at that bar, isn’t he.” It’s not even a question. It’s a statement with so much confidence you feel it punch you metaphorically.

You cough, sipping on your drink carefully. It burns your tongue anyway. “No.”

“Oh, _pshhh–”_ Ally gulps down some of her drink, waving her hand. “Sure, he isn’t.”

“Ally, I don’t–”

“So, what’s he like?” She props her elbows on the table, nestling her chin in her palms. Her brown eyes are unblinking as they bore holes into yours. You remain silent, lips pursed. “Hey, it’s either you tell me about this guy or you tell me about what’s been bothering you. Your choice.” _Wow, damn, okay._

“Ally,” You breathe, nonplussed, frantically checking for Sabo. If he were to hear this, you might just jump off a cliff. “ _Seriously_ , I don’t know him.” Ally leans back with her hands up, a sign of defeat that you’re not too convinced by. You drink more of your hot chocolate, sneaking a look her way and realizing that her eyes are searching for the blond.

“ _Okay,_ fine, I know him.” You hiss at her. The triumph that makes itself known on her visage makes you want to smack her, and you roll your eyes. “He… was the guy I met… at the bar.” _I_ **_guess_** _._

“And…?” She urges, regarding you curiously.

“And… he’s nice?” A deadpan from the blond forces a vexed sigh from you. “I’ve only talked to him _once_ , Ally. He’s not going to tell me everything about his life, starting from when people made fun of him for being too handsome.”

Ally doesn’t seem to buy it – you, quite frankly, don’t give a damn – but she does hum, interested. “I think you two would make a good pair.” You’re halfway into gawking when a deep voice interrupts you.

“And how are your drinks so far?”

(x)

“She’s _here_ ,” Sabo heaved as he trudged into the break room. The door collided with the wall noisily, making the person within the room jump at the disturbance. He was too busy still reeling over the ordeal to notice.

Inside, Koala was eating a sandwich, enjoying her break until the interruption. She munched on, scrutinizing Sabo with round eyes when he sat down in the spot beside her. He released a heavy sigh, fingers touching his lips thoughtfully.

“What?” She firmly tongued the bite in her mouth to the side so she wouldn’t spray food at him, but, despite her efforts, the word sounded more like ‘haft?’. Even so, Sabo had no trouble understanding her.

“I– nevermind, I don’t know.” He scratched the back of his head, frowning, eyes darting from one place to another. Koala fixed him with a stern look, swallowing the bite of the sandwich and shoving him lightly.

“Yes, you do.” She prods him in the shoulder, oddly grave. It usually happened when Sabo seemed to fall back into the version of himself before he met Luffy and Ace. Sabo rubbed his thighs repeatedly, back and forth, a habit that shined through when he was pondering over something or nervous. In this case, it was a bit of both. “Did something happen out there?”

“No… not really,” He replied.

“Then why all this mumbo-jumbo, silly?” She prompted.

It’s not like he was anxious – he’d shared a conversation with you while escorting you home and had kept his cool throughout the day. He’d definitely had fun with you, even though you’d been panicky and worn out from the things you’d witnessed.

“I… went to check on them…” Sabo mumbled. Koala lowered her head a tad, eyebrows arching, waiting for him to finish.  “…she called me handsome.”

“ _Oof_ , Sabo.” Koala leaned back with a light laugh, patting him on the back, shaking her head. “It’s just a compliment – an honest one, too, since she didn’t know you were there.” Sabo didn’t respond.

“C’mon, Sabo…” The redhead pressed encouragingly, smiling. Their current state reminded her of their days in high-school, where she’d say and do almost everything to compliment him, especially when he was glum. In the beginning of their first year, he’d attempted to be confident, just like his brother Ace, but she saw through his act right away. The guy had a tendency to focus on the worst about himself to try and ‘fix’ it, only because he’d been raised to do so.

“I mean, I guess.” He straightened, inhaling deeply, then deflated again. “I guess…”

“Maybe you should go talk to her? Whoever she is?” She suggested, taking another bite out of her sandwich.

“I… okay– no, wait, yeah, I can do that.” Sabo checked the time on his wristwatch. He knew that some of the customers were going to be miffed for his mysterious departure, but… well, he’d handle it.

Koala looked on as he left the room. When she was alone again, she let out a loud, resounding sigh, smiling fondly. It was uncommon for Sabo to feel insecure these days. He’d grown a lot and, over the years, finally realized that he was worth more than whatever his parents tried batter into his brain. Although, there were times where he couldn’t help it. She guessed that this was one of those times, when work and school were weighing down on him and he just needed to let it out. She was glad that she could be of help, even after so long.

Finishing her sandwich, she hopped off her seat, dusting her hands off and preparing to go back to work.

(x)

“...and so, we kind of talked, and then we moved on with our lives.”

You take a swig from your drink, braver now that your hot chocolate wasn’t threatening to singe your taste buds. The blonde in front of you cocked her head to the side, eyes glinting with delight. She’d succeeded in coaxing the information out of you and was now revelling in the… gossip?

Which really wasn’t gossip because it was bullshit through and through.

You’d come up with the whole story on the spot and were already forgetting parts of it because you were just that good at acting. You just hope Ally is satisfied for a while before she brings it up again seven years from now.

“And all you did was talk?” She asks, recovering out of her reverie. “Really?”

“Yes?”

“But– oh, whatever,” Ally laughed, standing up. You moved to do the same, thinking that it was time for you to go when she held out a hand. “I have to go talk to one of my teachers in about an hour.”

“Ah,” You removed your hands from the table. “And you want me to stay because…?”

“Because I know you’re going to lock yourself up in your apartment again and I won’t let that happen.” She said, not a hint of humor in her voice. It takes you off guard.

“Alright, then.”

Content with your answer, Ally gives you a friendly pat on the shoulder and exits the café, a bounce in her gait. You twist your upper body to see her go, more relieved than you let on. Honestly, when Ally wasn’t trying to gain information from you, she wasn’t bad company. It wasn’t like you _hated_ her, but lately you’d been seeing this behaviour arise more often and it was starting to bother you.

When Ally is finally out of your line of sight, you extract your phone from your pocket and hurry to tap on the messaging app.

Over the course of your lie, you’d thought about texting Ace. For some reason or other, you’d felt it would be right to tell him that you’d met Luffy. Besides, one conversation outside of the whole gang member to terrified civilian thing would be lovely. Two people, just… having what could be an ill at ease tête-à-tête.

**_XXX-XXX-XXXX 12:45PM_ **

_Hey, so…_

_I may have met your brother._

_I mean Luffy._

Would he be angry and tell you to stay away from him? It’s not like it was your fault you suddenly met your unexpected pen pal. Besides, Luffy’s character suggested that he had no problems with you, since he kept you from leaving because you were their friend… even though you’d known each other for an hour or so.

**_Ace 12:51PM_ **

_You met my little brother?!!?!_

You wipe your palms on your jeans, noticing the angry, red marks that your phone case had left. Oh boy, here goes nothing.

**_XXX-XXX-XXXX 12:55PM_ **

_Yeah…_

_Well, he kind of crashed into me and knocked me to the floor, but yeah._

**_Ace 12:57PM_ **

_That sounds like him, alright._

_He tends to forget to watch where he’s going. I’m sorry on his behalf… haha_

**_XXX-XXX-XXXX 12:59PM_ **

_Oh no, it’s fine!_

**_XXX-XXX-XXXX 1:02PM_ **

_He also told me some interesting things._

**_Ace 1:04PM_ **

_Oh no... What did he tell you?_

_Actually, nevermind -- don’t listen to him! It’s all lies!_

Your lips forgo the concentrated frown on your face for a hint of a mirthful smile, Luffy’s conversations floating into the foreground of your mind. Luffy hadn’t told you much. He’d _clearly_ been more interested in you and Ace’s… friendship.

_Are you dating?_

The thought makes you pause, uncertain as your cheeks heat up. You could bring it up, but then that would lead to the awkwardness you don’t want to brave. Besides, Ace just told you it was all lies. But then, Luffy did seem to say whatever was on his mind whenever he wanted to.

**_XXX-XXX-XXXX 1:09PM_ **

_Haha, okay._

Another memory ripples into view, and you freeze a second time. An odd sensation washes over you, paralyzing the limbs it invades. A hush sweeps the room, though you know that’s just your brain going into overdrive. The people in the café are still talking.

Your thumbs press each key robotically.

**_XXX-XXX-XXXX 1:11PM_ **

_I have a question for you: why do criminals have to meet in alleyways? Is it a tradition or something?_

Knowing that you won’t receive a reply straight away, you finish off your mug of hot chocolate. It was lukewarm now due to being sitting on the table for so long, but you drink it anyway. Can’t let it go to waste.

Now that you had a moment to yourself, you think about your current situation and not just the fact that you’re outside when you’d rather be at home. Texting Ace had been fun – short, but fun, nonetheless, but it was time you got some answers.

You swiftly exit Ace’s conversation, tapping on the contact above his without a second thought. _If you think, you won’t get anywhere._

You will your mind to revolve around that fact, typing a message.

**_XXX-XXX-XXXX 1:16PM_ **

_Who are you?_

Your thumb hovers shakily above the send button – the one you’d just pressed. You read the words time and time again, awaiting a reply. There’s not a lot of a hope for a reply, but the flame still resides in the back of your mind.

Now that you have the text in front of you and are … reasonably calm, you’re able to analyze it properly. Whoever this person was, they’d sent this message when you were in the sketchy neighbourhood, which means that they might be decent people… might. There’s also the fact that, had you gone searching for whatever was _behind you,_ you might’ve been plucked off the streets. Taken and never to be heard of again.

**_UNKNOWN 1:17PM_ **

_We’re sorry;_ _the number you have entered has been temporarily disconnected, changed, or is no longer in service._

You sighed, jaw clenched anxiously.

**_XXX-XXX-XXXX 1:19PM_ **

_Who are you?_

**_UNKNOWN 1:23PM_ **

_We’re sorry;_ _the number you have entered has been temporarily disconnected, changed, or is no longer in service._

That one had taken longer to reach you.

You shift in your chair, eyebrows furrowing as you type the same thing for the third time, perspiration building up on the nape of your neck.

**_XXX-XXX-XXXX 1:23PM_ **

_Who are you._

You drop your phone on the table, huffing as you lounge back, arms crossed over your chest. Your phone vibrates two minutes later – you know because you keep track of the seconds that tick by – and you pick it up to read…

**_UNKNOWN 1:25PM_ **

_An ally._

You recoil from your screen, shaking your head to disperse the shock. They’d actually answered. It wasn’t a name, but it was enough for now. A part of you had predicted that they would continue to send the same message until you gave up.

Trepidation roils inside your gut as you consider your next step, shoulders drawing back in preparation.

**_XXX-XXX-XXXX 1:26PM_ **

_How did you get this number?_

_And who was behind me?_

Behind. Me. The two words sent a bolt of panic straight to your chest. Even now, when you’re not in any danger, they still affect you negatively.

**_UNKNOWN 1:27PM_ **

_Your workplace._

What was that supposed to mean? You drum your fingers on the table anxiously, focusing on keeping your breathing rhythmic. Your workplace. It was a fairly popular bar, that much you knew, with its own website and all that jazz.

 _Aw, shit._ You think, heartbeat stuttering.

Your Facebook.

You restrain a groan of frustration. The only reason you’d even made one is to follow the bar’s official profile. Not once did you check on it, nor did you ever use facebook. Your phone wasn’t even public, either! Chances were they’d somehow gained your phone number from someone working at the bar. But who?

 ** _XXX-XXX-XXXX_** **_1:30PM_**

_Are you planning on killing me, then?_

Not the best question to ask, but you at least had to know, right? You had to make a schedule and plan out what remains of your life, after all. It would be rude if you didn’t.

You rub your eyes, lifting your cap to rake your fingers through your hair. Here you were, talking to a stranger that’s managed to get your phone number and you’re making sarcastic jokes about your death. _I’m going to die._

**_UNKNOWN 1:32PM_ **

_No._

_If I’d wanted you dead, we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now._

Well then. That was one way to put it, wasn’t it? At least you’re safe from this person, whoever they are. Maybe. They didn’t sound too fun-loving, if the bluntness of their statement was anything to go by. Either way, you don’t know how to respond, so... instead of fumbling through a conversation with them, you turn off your phone.

“Mind if I join you?”

You raise your head, already knowing who it was but feeling unprepared nonetheless.

“No– I mean, yes. No.” You give up, motioning to the seat across from yours hurriedly, crimson colouring on your cheeks. Sabo lets loose a chuckle and settles down, palms flat on the table.

“How have you been, (name)?” He asks once you’re done acting like a flustered maiden. You peer at him, cap shadowing your face.

“I’ve been better.” You answer truthfully, removing your hat and fixing your hair. Sabo nods, smiling at you apologetically. He opens his mouth to speak, but you beat him to it. “You don’t have to apologize. I mean, you haven’t caused me too much trouble… _yet_.”

The blond looks slightly taken aback, but smiles. “Right, of course.” He glances off to the side, observing the people milling about the room or enjoying a drink. You assume he’s on break or has gotten off work for today. Why he chose to spend some time with you was a bit odd, but you didn’t really mind. Maybe. You don’t know how to function as of late.

You study his profile, trying to make sense of whatever’s happening right now. Sabo’s not wearing the enormous top hat or the long coat. His work clothes consist of a plain white button up blouse, a pair of dark jeans, and black shoes.

“I didn’t really see you as a waiter,” You muse. His eyes snap back to yours, round and bright due to the light bouncing off the floor. They contrast with the rest of his features, which are all sharp and strong. The smile he sends your way is somewhat shy.

“Have to pay tuition somehow, miss.” He throws back playfully.

“Good point.” You say after a second.

“What _did_ you see me as?”

“...I don’t know. You were on the news a couple days back. Is that why Ace was late to his _super_ secret meeting with his friends?”

Sabo stared at you as you spoke, eyebrow quirked. He briefly scanned the area for eavesdroppers, lips pursed. When you mentioned Ace, he grinned, a tad abashed. “Yeah. We were catching up and lost track of time.”

“Hm,” You shrug, staring at the floor. The conversation lags while you think, your next question coming out quietly. “How have the cops not caught you? I mean, you were on the news, and Ace’s tattoo is the size of a small country. Surely the cops have kept tabs on you people.”

Sabo was unbothered by your question. In fact, he seemed somewhat impressed. He gave his answer some thought, obviously keeping the crucial details off the table. “Uh… simply put: contacts, information, bribing, blackmailing. And other things.”

“...all right, then.” You didn’t think he’d be so willing to answer your question. Maybe he answered so freely because he didn’t know about what you were studying for in university. Or, maybe he trusted you to keep it to yourself. What he said was not groundbreaking. If you were to tell anyone, you wouldn’t be making much of a difference. Police already knew _what_ these criminals were doing; they just didn’t know _how_ , though.

And you doubt Sabo will tell you how they were doing it. As open as he is, you both met a couple days ago and telling you everything would be plain silly. It would jeopardize whatever it is he’s up to.

“You…” You begin, biting the inside of your cheek. How do you even say this? “Remember the creepy text I got a few days back?”

Sabo’s expression changes so fast it’s alarming, taking a more serious edge. “Of course.”

You inhale deeply, preparing yourself. “I sent them a message. They answered.”

Sabo tilted his head to the side. “You texted them?” You give a curt nod. “...usually, when someone sends you that sort of message, you ignore them, no?”

You raise your chin, eyes narrowing into two angry slits. “ _Usually_ , yeah, you ignore them. But I can’t really do that, can I?”

“No,” Sabo concedes, understanding. It makes you feel kind of bad for snapping at him like that, but you had to. “You can’t. So it’s only normal for you to ask.” You nod a second time. “Okay, then, can I see what they sent you?”

You stare at him, puzzled, and his lips curl upwards. “I did say I was going to look into it, didn’t I?”

“Yeah,” Yes, he did. You remember that. “But… with me around?”

“Yeah? Unless you want to give me your phone…” Sabo trails off, amused.

You scoff, unlocking your device. “ _Ha_ , no.” Despite your words, you grin, shaking your head. Sabo laughs, stands, and drags his chair over to you so that you can both view the texts. “This is it.”

Sabo’s blue eyes skim mover the messages swiftly, eyebrows knitted, attentive.

“Well, chances are this is a burner phone, and it’s an unknown, so tracking it will be a little harder.” Sabo begins, earning a look from you. “I know a few websites that might help with that. The person needs to call you, though.”

“Uh… sure.” You reply.

“Without the actual phone number, I don’t really know how to track it. There’s always triangulation since we live in a city and there are plenty of cell towers around. Chances are this person is around the area. That makes for a good back-up if there’s time for it, but it can be unreliable.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Unless they’ve already disposed of the burner phone and are using another one. If that happens, then I can’t find them right now.”

“Okay.”

Sabo tears his gaze away from your phone’s screen, glancing furtively in your direction. Heat builds up in his cheeks, turning them a dark shade of red as he clears his throat. “Sorry, got carried away there.”

“You did,” You laugh meekly in an attempt to quell the discomfort branching out from within your heart. This was a lot more than you’d wanted. When he said he’d look into it, you didn’t think he’d be spewing words like tracking and _triangulation_ , of all things. You hadn’t heard that since _high school_. “It’s fine, though. I appreciate the help.”

“Not a problem.” The blond at your side grins, eyes gleaming. “If anything else comes up, you can usually find me here.” He says reassuringly as he hands you your device. You take it shakily, lips pursed, staring at the screen like a demon will crawl out of it and pounce on you.

Your mouth feels dry, almost like it’d known you were going to speak again and was telling you to _stop_.

“Why are you helping me?”

If it weren’t for the closeness, you doubt Sabo would have heard you. But he did.

“It’s not fair to you to be left in the dark completely.” Sabo starts, recovering from his previous embarrassment. “I know my brother hasn’t told you much, and you've only gotten glimpses of what they do, but that’s not enough. There’s a chance you’re in danger. Keeping you guessing and paranoid won’t do much to help.”

The blond takes a second to gauge your reaction, then promptly finishes with: “So I’m going to.”

And so, you’re left struggling for words. Like usual.

He seemed so sincere when he said that, it’s hard to process. You stare at him owlishly, hands threatening to crush your poor phone. Sabo shifts slightly, redness travelling up the column of his neck to tips of his ears.

“If you… if you want my help, that is. I didn’t mean to sound–”

“No,” You blurt, snapping out of your daze, “I mean, _yes,_ I– _please_. I do need help. Thank you so much.” Internally, you curse your stammering, but you’re just so grateful. You’ll feel way better if you can just get this all off your chest, and starting with the ominous text seems appropriate for now.

Sabo nods, lips stretching into a warm smile that made yours twitch upwards. “No problem, (name)–”

“Oh, so this is who you’re talking to!”

At the intrusion, Sabo blinks and looks at the approaching figure. Koala has a tray in her hand, and is currently smiling at you. She grabs the mug that once contained the macchiato, sending Sabo a look.

“Hello,” You greet awkwardly, recognizing the barista from earlier.

“Hey, Koala.” Sabo grins at her, although there’s a panicked gleam in his eyes that betrays his anxiousness. You don’t understand why he’s like that, though. “(name), this is Koala. She’s an old friend of mine.”

“Hi!” The redhead returns enthusiastically, extending a hand so you could shake it. “We saw each other a while ago. How are you?”

The amicable gesture surprises you a little, to say the least, but you shake her hand to be polite. “I’m doing well.” _Think, (name), think._ “Uh, the hot chocolate was really good.”

Koala’s face brightens, a feat that seemed impossible since she was already so bubbly, her already high-pitched voice going up a notch. “Thank you! I’m glad you liked it.”

Sabo watched you two converse. Koala led most of the conversation like the extrovert she was, while you answered, substantially more reserved. After a few minutes, he interrupted Koala from telling an embarrassing work story about _him_ of all people and pointed to your phone.

“What do you make of this?” He asked the redhead, whose expression clouded over.

“Stop interrupting people!” She scolded sharply, wacking him on the head. Sabo flinched, but otherwise gave no other reaction. An instant later, Koala was analyzing the screen of your phone, eyes skimming over the text messages rapidly. “It’s creepy. And they’re in the area, for sure.”

The blond at your side nods once, humming. “That’s what I thought.”

You take your phone from Koala, who is lost in thought. “Is this really serious?”

“Uh…” You glance at Sabo.

“Yes, it is.”

Koala frowns, resting all her weight on one foot. “...okay. Let’s talk about this later, then. I have to go or I’m gonna be fired.” And just like that, she’s off to tend to the other customers.

“I should go too.” You admit sheepishly, rubbing your arms. “I need to go talk to my teachers and get the notes I need.”

“Oh, all right.” Sabo nods, eyes scanning your face. When he doesn’t find what he’s searching for, he adds, “You know, my brother is friends with a psychologist, if you need to talk to anyone.”

Once again, you’re astonished at the kindness Sabo continues to exhibit so freely.

“I… sure. We’ll see.” You manage to stammer, throwing your jacket and hat back on. “Wait, do you… want my phone number? Just so we can meet up and… figure out who this person is?” You chance a glance around the room, glad that your strange wording hadn’t attracted any unwanted attention from the other patrons.

“Sure!” Sabo grinned, pulling out a notepad. You feel awkward and scared, but he’s trustworthy. You know he is, and he’s proven it.

You give him your phone number, scratching the back of your head as you watch him jot it down with the same intensity as one would write their notes in class. It brings another blush to your face when he parrots back what you just told him with a grin. When that’s done, you bid each other farewell, and you head out the door.

Hesitant, you pause in front of the entrance and crane your neck to look at Sabo again. He waves once, which you return shyly, and then you’re off.

Your hands are in your pockets, fidgeting and thumbing the soft material, but you feel much better. These past few days, you’ve been but an empty husk of who you are, with little control over your emotions and life. It was nice to have some of that control back.

But how long could that last?

(x)

Over the course of the next few days, you re-emerged from the shadows and attended both class and work. You had a lot to catch up on in school, but you managed to get back on track with just two all-nighters. At work, your manager chewed you out for your absence, snarky and pompous as always. Of course, you remained respectful and promised it wouldn’t happen again. It dampened your spirits for a while, but after a firm shake of your head, you shook it off.

And, on top of all that, you visited Sabo’s workplace whenever you had the time. It was stressful at first, showing up unannounced, but he seemed totally okay with it. You’d sit in the cafe, a mug of hot chocolate in front of you to fight the cold, and wait for him to be done with his shift. Then, you’d sit with him, messages on screen as he typed away on his computer.

Despite the situation, you relaxed. Sure, you were tracking a potential criminal with _another_ potential criminal, but Sabo’s company easily became appreciated. And Koala’s. At times, she’d join you both and provide input, never questioning why Sabo was helping you. Although, chances were she already knew.

The person was hard to track. The first hurdle was the fact that they had no caller I.D, which you jumped over when Koala brought up an app that unmasked the phone number. From there on, you pinpointed the area code and found it to be the same as yours, which meant the person truly was in the area.

Then, it was only a matter of letting Koala and Sabo discuss amongst themselves. On one of those discussions, Koala brought up a good point.

“What if this was just a prank?”

At that stage, you’d already told her bits and pieces of your adventure in the sketchy neighbourhood.

“I… it might be.” You responded, fingertips tapping a rhythm on the table. It was late at night and the café was closed by now, but it was the only time you and Sabo tended to have to meet. “But it just seemed too much of a coincidence.”

“Some prank that would be.” Sabo mused under his breath. He had a pink and blue clip keeping his hair away from his face, courtesy of Koala, that made you smile whenever you looked at him. The three of you had dark circles under your eyes, accentuated by the day’s efforts.

On day five, you finally got them. Sabo did use the triangulation method to double check, and as it turned out, it was someone in an area teeming with criminal activity.

“Fan-fucking-tastic.” You declared to no one in your apartment when the news reached you by text. Relaying this to the blond, you then asked what else you could do. Sabo sent back a few emojis, replying, unlike Ace. He’d disappeared again.

In the end, there’s nothing more _you_ can do. Because that would be putting your life at risk. In your honest opinion, you had no problem with that. You bid Sabo goodnight, studied for another hour, fell asleep on your desk, then woke up from a nightmare.

This one had been different though – a lot more different.

It didn’t star anybody from your favourite gang, the Whitebeards, which was surprising after the research you’d done on them. After finding out that they’re probably the most dangerous gang and have been active for more than three decades, you’d thought nothing but _fuck me_ for a good seven minutes.

No, it starred the figure that had waved at you all that time ago. Back when Ace was still camping in your apartment. The slow sway of their hand when they waved at you chased you out of sleepy-time, leaving you to rack your brain for connections.

_Maybe they’re the same person?_

If it was, then… _fucking hell_. They’ve been stalking you for a long while.

When you said this to Sabo, he seemed to have the same reaction, only more professional. It was around three in the morning, and both of you were knee deep in assignments. Maybe it was selfish, but talking to him while studying graphic images of different murders was soothing. You could only hope he thought the same thing.

A week and a half later, and your life was back to normal. You didn’t see anyone from the Whitebeard gang at the grocery store, you weren’t mugged, you didn’t interrupt any drug deals. There were no reasons for your hands to be shaking, and your alcohol intake was back to _nada._

It was blissfully normal.

You accepted the blessing without question, intent on enjoying whatever time you have before something else inevitably happens.

Then, Ace replied.

**_Ace 9:04PM_ **

_Do you think it’s tradition?_

**_XXX-XXX-XXXX 9:15PM_ **

_I asked, didn’t I?_

**_Ace 9:21PM_ **

_Haha, yeah._

_It might be, though. Who knows._

**_XXX-XXX-XXXX 9:25PM_ **

_…I’ll keep that in mind the next time I go out, then._

**_Ace 9:27PM_ **

_Why do you ask, anyway?_

**_XXX-XXX-XXXX 9:30PM_ **

_Just curious._

_I have to study now._

_…oh, and sorry if this is really late but… thanks for getting me home._

Ace responded not even a minute later with a smiley face and _no sweat_. You shook your head as you re-read the messages a second time. It was almost one in the morning, and you’d just finished the last of the assignments you had to catch up on. Now you just had to finish the homework due by the end of the week, and you’d be all good.

With a groan, you stretch languidly, joints popping loudly. Sighing, you rub your eyes as you unglue your legs from the cushions of your couch. Angry red marks decorate the back of your thighs, and you pull down your pyjama shorts, strutting into the kitchen. You don’t bother with the lights.

You pad across the room silently, unwilling to disturb the serenity that had settled over you while you worked. Opening a cupboard, you pour yourself a glass of juice for a change, putting all your weight on one foot as you drink.

When you finish, you gingerly set the glass in the sink, refreshed. The curtains are drawn, just like they’d been when Ace first barrelled into your life.

And now that you think about it, you’d met both Ace and Luffy in similar ways. The circumstances had varied – drastically so – but still. They both knocked you off your feet and on your behind rather carelessly.

Fondly, you huff, gripping the curtains and pulling them apart. The sky, pitch black, was littered with stars that twinkle in greeting. Like usual, the light from the lampposts and the moon bounced off the windows of the buildings, giving them a soft glow. It was enough to see the streets and sidewalks, which were deserted.

You spend a few minutes admiring the scene in front of you, thankful for the quietude as you mull over… everything, really.

You had yet to thank Marco for delivering your car and keys to your apartment. You thought Ace could do that for you. But you also wanted to thank him for bringing you home safely. You’d rather do it yourself; having someone else do it would leave you wondering if they’d said what you wanted, not whatever they pleased.

Even though you had no way to contact the man, you’re sure you’re going to cross paths again. That would be a more mild surprise after all that’s happened up to now. Your eyes scour the area, as if somehow, you’d be able to see the man with the phoenix tattoo. If you could, you think you’d spot him with Ace or someone of their ilk.

Your eyes sweep the area one last time, an action that would’ve put an end to your train of thought had you not spotted something in the distance.

 _Haha, or rather,_ **_someone._ **

You wait, eyebrows furrowing. The person strolls down the street in front of your building, hands tucked in their pockets. Without thinking, you to rush back into the living room for your phone. The screen reveals no new messages when you turn it on, but you unlock it anyway, apprehension gripping your body like a sickness.

You tap an erratic rhythm on your phone case, ready to send a message if they truly are walking by. Hurrying back to the kitchen window, you let out a breath when you note that they hadn’t changed course. They’re not leaning against the building or waving at you. Still, you’re alert.

“...”

The screen illuminates the kitchen with its blue-tinted glow. It takes one swear for you to begin typing. Your throat feels so tight the word is more of a rasp.

**_XXX-XXX-XXXX 1:08AM_ **

_Sabo_

_I think they’re back_

_can you track them_

**_Sabo 1:09AM_ **

_Really?!_

_I think I can._

_Don’t go anywhere!_

They’re almost gone when you finally receive a message from Sabo. Your heart leaps inside your chest, so frenetic it feels like you’re going to puke it up. _Don’t go anywhere_ , he said, as if you were going to follow them. You didn’t have a death wish, but it was nice of him to make sure that you didn’t do anything beyond stupid.

**_Sabo 1:11AM_ **

_No doubt about it. It’s them._

_But why…?_

**_XXX-XXX-XXXX 1:12AM_ **

_I dont know but they said that if they wanted me dead, i already would be_

_i dont want to freak out but for fuck’s sakes_

_Sabo_

**_Sabo 1:12AM_ **

_Hold on, (name)._

_They’re not headed in your direction. They’re going south._

_Let me check something._

You exit the kitchen as Sabo replies, hands twisting into the curtains of the living room and impatiently tugging them out of your way. With your vision unobstructed, you find the stranger again. Their gait is steadfast and unrelenting, yet it appears as if they’re out on a casual promenade.

**_Sabo 1:15AM_ **

_(name)?_

**_XXX-XXX-XXXX 1:15AM_ **

_Here_

**_Sabo 1:16AM_ **

_Right._

_Do you know the Red Hair gang?_

You scowled at the screen, inhaling deeply to appease the panic attack that’s rearing its nasty head.

**_XXX-XXX-XXXX 1:16AM_ **

_I do, but like… not really._

_I was researching the Whitebeards, not them._

_I’m assuming whoever this guy is, he’s one of them?_

**_Sabo 1:18AM_ **

_Yeah._

You resisted the urge to throw your phone at the window, anger and fear spiking. Your stomach churned anxiously at the revelation. _Of fucking course they were._

Glancing back at the person, you noticed that they were a mere dot now, floating through the streets soundlessly like a phantom. The light from the street lamps seemed to quiver as the stranger passed them, but you knew that was your brain trying to fuck with you.

 _  
_ **_XXX-XXX-XXXX 1:19AM_ **

_So, now what._

_There’s criminals running around outside of my apartment and, as it turns out, I’m a potential target ever since I found Ace in my car. And I can’t call the police because that would be interfering with their work and because I’d end up going to jail or something for helping him instead of doing what a sane person would._

**_Sabo 1:20AM_ **

_...I’m sorry, (name)._

You rub soothing circles into your temples, trying to grind the fear into nothing. The action morphs into an attempt at crushing your own head with your middle and index fingers.

**_XXX-XXX-XXXX 1:22AM_ **

_He said he didn’t want me dead. Not yet._

_I’m seriously considering moving out of my apartment right now._

_But that means there’s a chance I’ll lose my job. It took me ages to find this apartment and a good job and leaving would mean having to restart. Again._

_Sabo_

_I need you to do something for me_

**_Sabo 1:22AM_ **

_What is it?_

**_XXX-XXX-XXXX 1:24AM_ **

_I want you to smack Ace when you see him again._

_Like… hard._

_But not crazy hard._

With that, you toss your phone on the couch and press your forehead against the window. Your tremulous sigh fogs up the glass, blocking your vision. You didn’t want to look outside anymore, anyway.

Slowly, you turn away from the window, shaken from the event. It could’ve gone a lot of ways, all of them horrendous. You’re glad for Sabo’s assistance and for your _genius_ decision to stay inside your damn home today. God knows what could’ve happened if you’d chosen to venture outside in search for that person.

Suddenly, you missed being able to have a drink to de-stress. Your head felt congested and your heightened senses almost brought about a panic attack. You still felt like everything was closing in on you, and you were dizzy, but at least there was no threat behind your front door. At least, you think there isn’t.

A quick check proved you correct.

Now, with the adrenaline drained from your system, exhaustion grated any sort of energy you’d had into a mote of dust. But you didn’t want to rest. You didn’t want to fall asleep, only to jerk awake when the nightmares were too overwhelming.

Dragging your feet to the couch, you flopped down on the cushions, cradling your head.

The control you’d held so greedily in your hands was starting to slip between your fingertips. You could practically feel your brain descending into a pit of horror and panic. But you didn’t dwell on it. Instead, you focused on your homework again, choosing to ignore the trembling that was starting to become a regular visitor.

So much for a peaceful night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I know I talked a lot in the first note, but I just want to share some of the things I did to overcome the writer's block. Mind you, I still don't know what the hell I'm doing with the story, but I spent a lot of time planning for things that might take place in the future, so I'm not completely lost. 
> 
> Anyway, here are some of the things I did:  
> -Read some One Piece to find some inspiration (which seems to be an obvious solution, but this time it didn't help much).  
> -Put on a timer (10 minutes) and just wrote whatever thought came to mind. It could've been about the chapter or some future idea. Whatever it was, I wrote it down and scrutinized it afterwards.  
> -Typed up summaries for most of the chapters to see what I could do in this one. I haven't finished all of them, but I think this might be something that I'll do in the future.  
> -Thought and thought and paid attention to conversations to see if I could extract something from them. I also did some research on things I wanted to include, which also helped get me going.
> 
> ...and I can't think of anything else. I wanted to put these things down here in case anyone might find them useful.
> 
> Thank you, everyone, for your patience and for everything in general. I wish you all a good day/night/rest of your week. Take care!
> 
> ...I'm going to rest now. zzz

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! All mistakes made are my own and only mine lol so I'm really sorry if they bother you.


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